


Something Else

by CryptidBane (Impetus)



Series: Something Else [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Canon Divergent, Canon Typical Violence, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Post 3x10, Violence against Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impetus/pseuds/CryptidBane
Summary: Magnus mourns his loss, and the world refuses to stop for broken men.





	1. The Curse

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my ever patient beta: ALittleBriton. She not only put up with my mess of a fic, but also multiple meltdowns. She made this fic what it is. I'm so grateful for her!  
> The banner was created by the extra talented Mansikka. I love the feel of the banner and am so lucky to have gotten something so beautiful!  
> Shout out to the brilliant admins, I've never had as much fun during a Big Bang before!  
> Also, bless hourglassmermaid for motivating me through all of this monstrosity.  
> Perhaps the real Big Bang were the friends we made along the way. 
> 
> This is a partner fic for Something Lost, so you may need to go read that for a bit more clarity!

It feels strange to be tucked away and protected, Maryse thinks. Magnus Bane’s apartment is beautiful. Warmth fills every corner, textured fabrics wrap around furniture, and hang by the windowsill. Cold air drifts in from the open balcony doors, and blows through her long brown hair, intruding the warm space that feels like her son.

She trails fingers over plush cushions and  wonders if Alec sits in this chair, or if he prefers the black one to her left, or maybe the couch and its throw blanket. The consideration keeps her from going mad.

Maryse hates waiting around. Maryse is a woman of action, with or without the support of a society that abandoned her and failed to protect the things she holds most dear. She’s always been in the thick of things. Head of the institute, active member of the Clave, ex-Circle member. Her convictions haven’t always been aligned with what’s right; but she never lacked for something to do. In a way, she feels the punishment of waiting more than she ever felt the punishment of losing her identity as a Shadowhunter.

Lilith is after her children. Before, Maryse could fight at their side, but now all she can do is _wait_. All she can do is stare out into the darkness and pollution from a place of safety. Her feet wear into the expensive-looking rug beneath her as she paces. There are wards here, fear strengthening them in the aftermath of Lilith’s last attack, and Maryse hides behind them as her son mutters uncertainties into her ear. The phone connection is rough, but she can hear his anxiety. So she speaks in an effort to quell it.

“He will come,” she says. “I'm sure Magnus is just waiting to make some sort of dramatic entrance.”

Alec is quiet. Then, voice soft and anxious, “Yeah, let’s hope so”

Then it’s time for her son to face her other son in a fight to the death. Alec hangs up.

And Maryse waits.

There are a lot of things she expects: a phone call, a fire message, even mundane news of a skyscraper crumbling to the ground in the dead of the night. The flare of red atop a faraway building is too much of a coincidence. But still, no information arrives, and she waits.

Maryse is not easily caught off guard. A lifetime of training and twenty odd years of seeking redemption teaches you to expect anything, demons and worse.

News comes as a portal.

It appears out of nowhere with a crack that shoots through her like all of the adamas arrowheads Alec favors. She wasn’t expecting it, but no one can ever say that Maryse Trueblood hasn’t learned to roll with the punches. In moments, she’s at the mouth of the swirling magic shaking the balcony doors. Her hands are ready. It took her but moments to push up her sleeves and stand with arms open wide as she prepares herself to take whoever is injured and lay them down.

One person comes through. He’s standing, but unsteady.

“Magnus,” Maryse whispers, on him and checking for injuries within seconds. There’s blood everywhere. He smells like iron and brimstone, and seems like he’s made of it too. “Oh, here take a seat.” She tries her best to conceal her panic. Magnus without Alec looks so wrong.

He walks past her and settles into deep red cushions that threaten to swallow him whole. It’s all so natural that an unbidden thought flits through her mind.

Alec must like the other chair. The black one. The one to her left.

“Please, Maryse, don’t worry about me. I’m fine. None of this blood is mine,” Magnus says.

Then why does it look like you’ve been stabbed through the heart? Maryse thinks.

“Where is Alec?” She asks, choosing to let Magnus try to hide the truth from her. She has no right to push. Magnus will come to her in his own time—that is, if he ever will.

He stares at her for a moment, as if realizing something earth-shattering.

“He’s with Jace.” The answer is simple and odd. Maryse isn’t close to Magnus by any means. She has just started getting acquainted with the man, and their relationship could be seen as tumultuous if you’re feeling generous. But even so. Magnus is a man who holds his cards close to his chest. He uses words and grand gestures to move attention and pull it where he wants it to go. When faced with those he distrusts and dislikes, he’s pointed like glass.

Maryse is no stranger to Magnus’ jagged edges. She knows what it’s like to be on the wrong end of the sharpest of words a warlock could have for a shadowhunter. Warlocks are immortal, and immortals grow creative. This is not Magnus wielding pretty weapons to cut into her.

This is something else.

She waits for more. She‘s already waited so long, but she’ll do it for the man who makes her boy smile. Seconds. Then minutes. Precious breaths of air count out the time left until he speaks again.

Her phone rings first.

“We’re on our way back to the institute,” Alec says into her ear. “We’ve got Jace and Clary. Izzy is alright.”

Maryse holds her breath.

“Luke is okay too,” Alec chuckles. “Even the vampire made it out.” She can almost hear the teasing smirk she knows Alec is wearing. It took so long for her to see that ease in her son, and she loves more than anything that she can feel it in her bones.

“Oh thank the Angel,” she says. She finds that she can breathe. “I’ll meet you at the Institute.”

“See you in a bit.”

She tries her best, but holding back her sobs is impossible. All those days of facing the world as a soldier mean nothing to her now. No amount of conditioned duty takes away the reality that her children challenged the Queen of Hell and made it out alive.

There’s a shift of air and Magnus is holding her. Maryse almost wants to laugh. Magnus Bane, one of the most powerful warlocks in existence, is offering her comfort. She almost wants to shy away from the undeserved kindness. But instead she can only be grateful.

“Maryse...there’s something very important that I have to tell you,” Magnus murmurs. His voice is low and thick with emotion. She can feel his arms tighten around her. “I struck a deal with my father.”

Maryse freezes. She knows this song and dance. Deals with demons are never simple, she’s seen the ugliness firsthand, has watched one too many desperate people lose much more than they bargained for.

“What did he take from you?” She asks, hot tears still roll down her face as Magnus swallows.

“Memories,” Magnus says haltingly. “He took memories.”

“Memories?” Maryse asks. Memories seem almost pedestrian for demons as powerful as the kind that create warlocks like Magnus. “Magnus, are you sure he didn’t take something else?” She pulls back a bit, her tears abating as she tries to suck in air through her stuffy nose. With him so much closer now, Maryse can smell something else underneath all of the vestiges of Magnus’ journey. Something musky and pleasant. Her eyes dart to his, trying to catch them as Magnus stares out at the night sky.

“That’s all he needs,” Magnus admits. A moment of silence. Then he speaks again. “Please, don’t mention me to anyone when you return to the Institute. Tell Jace and Max not to talk about me.” He all but begs, and Maryse understands all at once.

“He doesn’t remember you,” she whispers.

Magnus meets her gaze, and then she’s the one pulling him into her embrace.

“Likely not,” he chuckles.

Maryse listens as Magnus’ hollow amusement turn into desolation.

“A curse,” Magnus scoffs. “Everyone who ever loved me has forgotten me, I guess that’s why you seem to remember everything.” A short sob tumbles from his throat and shatters in the charged air. “You and I never exactly got along.”

Maryse is a mother. She knows she hasn’t always been the best kind; but in times like this she doesn’t even need to think. So she rubs his back and lets him cry.

As she holds him, she thinks of Alec. Alec whose smiles grew fierce and warm just at the thought of the man falling apart in her grasp. Alec who will return to his life missing something he can’t quite figure out. Maryse’ heart clenches.

Her boy, alone again. Magnus, who loves him so much, hiding in this tower.

“I know how this looks, but believe me, Magnus. I want to help you. We’ll fix this,” she says, expression firm. “I know my son will do anything to be with the ones he loves. He will fight anything and everything to protect the people precious to him.”

“I can’t ask that of him, Maryse. And...it’s...it’s too painful for me.” He gasps for breath. “To see him without _him seeing me_.” Another shuddering heave of his chest. “I can’t. Not yet. Let me try to fix this first.”

Every part of her wants to scream and cry and demand that he understand _how Alec loves him._  But she can’t. She understands. Standing with your back straight, your heart breaking and falling apart at your feet. Maryse Trueblood understands all too well.

She sucks in a breath and moves to cup Magnus’ face. Despite his age and his strength, he appears all of twenty-five. Dark circles and a split lip peer at her from beneath limp and greasy hair. Maryse brushes it out of his eyes and summons all of her strength.

“I’ll do as you ask, for now. I trust you,” she says. Magnus nods as she wipes away one of his tears with her thumb. “I have to go meet them. They’ll worry if I don’t get there soon.”

Magnus laughs, something small and choked, as he snaps his fingers and summons her a portal. She shakes her head at his graciousness and walks toward the rush of magic. Then she turns back once more.

“Magnus?”

He looks up at her, hands and lips trembling.

“He would want you to trust him too.”

And she steps onto the lawn of the Institute.

*** 

This is where Alec belongs. He finishes his debrief and scans the ops center as all New York shadowhunters disperse and talk amongst themselves. He catches his mother’s eye and ventures toward her. She opens her arms and pulls him close, her unmarked skin belying the strength she holds him with.

It’s strange.

Alec loves his mother, their bond grows by leaps and bounds with every new conversation and look they share. He’s grateful for how far they’ve come. So when Alec pulls away and sees the tears streaking down her cheeks, he isn’t surprised—not until he looks at her again.

Maryse has looked at him with pride, disappointment, and even disgust, but she has never looked at him with pity before. It churns deep in his gut, the quiet, incomprehensible devastation as she reaches up and brushes something off of his cheek. Calloused fingers pause beneath his eyelashes.

“Oh, my boy,” she whispers. She pulls him close again, and Alec gets the distinct feeling that she is crying for him.

*** 

Alec pushes into his room with all the grace of a newborn lamb. There, he finds his favorite pair of ratty sweatpants and a worn grey t-shirt, folded and ready for him to pull on. He rests his hand on the soft material, his brow creasing.  As meticulous as he is, Alec has never made a habit of preparing clothes for himself. Still, it almost feels routine as he dresses and wanders to the bathroom.

His feet arch away from the frigid tile. Alec blinks away dots as he flips the light switch and heads toward the sink. Fluorescent bulbs flicker to life, shining down on him with the kindness of the midday sun in the desert.

The mirror does him no favors either. Harsh lighting in the cramped space washes out his already pale skin as he turns the faucet knob. Alec feels like shit, and he wants to go to bed, so he opens the medicine cabinet.

His toothbrush is missing. He turns off the faucet, poking around his medicine cabinet before giving up. It takes him a while, and a quick trip to Izzy’s room, but he finds a replacement and sets a timer for two minutes. A quick brush, thorough flossing, and one thirty second gurgle of mouthwash later, Alec finds himself next to his bed. He settles into the side closest to the door and lays back, arms slung across his forehead and stomach. The silence of the Institute weaves itself through his surging thoughts and strikes lightning hot as he tries to clear his mind.

His bed is as it’s always been. Standard issue blankets lay heavy upon him as he lies back against the firm mattress. It smells like detergent and dryer sheets, with the hint of something warm and heady that emanates from the clothes Alec found at the foot of his bed. The ceiling looms over him. He rolls over, burrowing his face deep into his pillow and inhales the smell of his shampoo, only to find that it’s not quite what he was expecting. For all of the years spent in this room, in this bed, Alec can’t seem to find any comfort in its familiarity at all.

He turns his head toward the empty space beside him. Alec shifts and reaches out to lay his hand on the surface of the spare pillow, warm fingers pressing into the cool material. His insistent heart thuds in his chest and brands a strange truth into his ribs.

Magnus Bane saved his life. If the evidence wasn’t so irrefutable, Alec wouldn’t believe it. His free hand traces over where the arrow had pierced his flesh. Nothing, not even a scar. Alec takes the pillow and curls around it. At one of the most horrible moments of his young life, Magnus had been there.

Magnus had been a vision.

Magnus Bane with his jewelry and smudged makeup; golden eyes and a split lip, charged with magic and heat that pulled Alec from the brink of death. He looked at Alec as if Alec was something precious. Even now, the power of Magnus’ presence drums up anxiety and confusion as Alec swallows down the undeniable connection he felt. Magnus Bane is made from all the dreams Alec refused to entertain.

He walked away from Lydia at their wedding. His family knows the truth that he declared for himself, and maybe this attraction to Magnus Bane isn’t so horrible. The man saved his life after all.

Alec thinks about how he’d gone so long as head of the institute, working alongside Magnus for years as a shadowhunter, and wonders why he is just realizing how beautiful this man is _now_. Even in the cold grip of death, all Alec wanted to do was hold Magnus’ hand. Maybe it’s selfish. Magnus has everything to lose. What can Alec offer a centuries-old warlock?

 _Maybe true love_ , a small part of him hums. Alec hurries to smother it down and ignores the smoldering that tells him he’s unsuccessful. Alec knows he’s a romantic at heart. All of the hopelessness of his youth manifests in daydreams of warm mornings and the smell of sandalwood, but even to a virgin romantic like Alec, a single two minute exchange does not constitute a relationship.

He fights back the needling whisper that tells him _it doesn’t matter._ They had such an instant connection, and Alec knows that the feelings he has for Magnus are new, but they’re also important. They light fireworks in his chest. Nephilim only love once, at least that’s the rumor, and Alec cannot imagine a greater feeling than this.

He thinks of colorful hair and strong shoulders to lean on and massage when things get to be too much. Their relationship could be soft kisses and a bed that doesn’t feel as empty as this one.

“I should thank him,” Alec whispers. His fingers run along the bed sheet. “Soon.”  And if Alec nurses the beginnings of a crush on the former High Warlock of Brooklyn, well, he has a good excuse.

*** 

Magnus sits sideways in Alec’s favorite armchair, legs propped up, leaning against the  armrest, the furniture cradling him in Alec’s absence. He takes a deep gulp of scotch and a lets out a pained hiss as demonic energy surges out of his aching limbs. The wards around his loft shiver and quake as they allow Asmodeus’ influence out and into the dawning day.

That should be the last of it, Magnus thinks. The sun peeks over the horizon and paints the city. It’s blinding, Magnus is drunk, and his hair is still damp from the shower he took forty minutes ago. So he leans back and throws a leaden hand over his eyes. He can feel the pulsing of blood as it oozes through his veins, all the more sluggish for his trip home and the alcohol.

Magnus knows loneliness like an old friend. Drinking alone, eating alone, and sleeping alone, so many old habits that never quite went away after centuries of practice. It’s easy to wave his hand and call another, fuller, bottle of liquor to his side.

“You’ve _unlocked_ something in me,” Magnus says aloud, voice mocking. It was true then and it still holds true now. Loneliness is not welcome in his home anymore, each sip of drink begs a chaser of Alec’s lips and laughter. “No one ever fucking lasts, you stupid Warlock,” Magnus hiccups. The admonishment does nothing but make him feel worse. He takes a healthy sip from his drink.

“Why are you talking to yourself?”

Magnus spits out a mouthful of liquor and mourns the loss. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sherwin!”

“Wow, you got his name right and not mine?” Simon asks. Magnus fixes the Daylighter with a scathing look and stands.

“Why are you in my loft?” Magnus sighs, exasperated.

“I was going to ask if I could hang out here for a while. After the whole big, you know, _thing_ , that happened tonight. The wards let me right in, so I just wanted to come check on you.”

“Excuse me?” Magnus snorts, wiping his chin before striding away toward the kitchen. “You wanted to check up on me? Shannon, I’m infinitely more powerful than yo—”

“Yeah, but I don’t think anyone at the New York Institute remembers you like they should,” Simon cuts in, voice rigid.

Magnus stops in his tracks. His magic goes to work, enforcing privacy wards as he turns to face the young vampire.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I asked Clary if Alec had seen you yet, and she asked why Alec would be looking for you,” Simon says, hands held up in the universal sign for surrender. “I’m not sure what happened.”

Magnus stares at him as if weighing options in his head. He sits back down and summons some whisky into his tumbler.

“Anything to drink?” He asks. Simon moves closer and settles on the couch across from him. “A Bloody Mary or maybe something harder?”

Simon wrinkles his nose. “Honestly, I’m okay. I think I’ll just take whatever blood you have.” Magnus nods and waves his hand, a tall cup appearing on the living room table. Simon takes it and sips before setting it back down. Magnus watches him with thoughtful eyes and makes a decision. He crosses his legs and dusts the last remnants of brimstone off of a throw pillow.

“Simon, there’s something you need to know.”

“Well, you got my name right, so this must be serious,” Simon says, leaning back in his seat. “Lay it on me.”

Magnus wastes no time. “In exchange for enough power to exorcise Jace, my father took all memory of me. Anyone who ever loved me won’t remember anything about our times together. Not even the downworlders remember. Something about me being tied down by connections instead of putting myself to actual use.”

There’s a sudden silence. A wordless Simon is something to see, but the moment is over almost before it began.

“What the fuck? Anyone who’s ever loved you _ever_?” Simon mutters. “Dude, your dad’s an asshole.”

“Well, he is a prince of Hell,” Magnus says, a rebellious smile making its way onto his face despite all his best efforts to stop it. He shrugs and lets himself have this. “Being an asshole kind of comes with the territory.”

“Oh...but like...aren’t you his son?” Simon’s face contorts in confusion. “Just ‘cause he’s a demon doesn’t mean he has to be a complete asshole. I mean Lilith almost destroyed the city for Jonathan, right?”

“Asmodeus and I have...a history. I’m afraid he wasn’t very willing to negotiate,” Magnus scoffs. “It was either give up the memories or join him on a throne in hell,” Magnus deadpans, taking a swig of his liquor.

“Throne in hell?” Simon hedges.

“A throne built on torture, pain, and a level of sick apathy I would never like to experience again,” Magnus says. He bites back the regret of his youth and looks deep into his glass. “Believe me, as terrible as this is, it’s preferable to me becoming a true denizen of hell.”

Simon seems to accept Magnus’ response and settles deeper into the cushions. They both drink in silence, acknowledging each other’s company and ignoring the reality that exists beyond the loft walls.

Then, the vampire gasps. “Oh shit. The whole ‘torturing humans for fun’ thing is real?”

Magnus ignores him.

“Dude, that is _fucked up_ ,” Simon mutters. The reality of a hell where people like Magnus’ father exist seems to hit him like a semi and he clears his throat. “I uh...think I’ll take that Bloody Mary now.”

Magnus laughs and turns to look at him. “I hope you like the real deal.” A crisp snap of Magnus’ fingers and the clamato-laced concoction, celery stalk and all, appears in Simon’s hand.

The vampire pours the remainder of his blood into the drink and stirs. He takes a sip. “So how come I remember you? I mean I know we’re not exactly best friends but I gotta say, man, I kinda love you,” he says, holding his arms out wide as if offering Magnus a hug. The warlock rolls his eyes.

“I’m flattered; and I’d share all the gritty details, but my father didn’t give me an instruction manual,” Magnus says, concealing his surge of affection toward Simon by finishing his whisky. He summons more.

Simon seems to understand anyway; smiling before giving a shrug of the shoulders. “I seem to be pretty untouchable at the moment. Mark of Cain,” He taps a finger to his forehead and flashes Magnus a cross between a cocky smirk and an eager grin. The rim of his glass finds its way between the odd curve of lips.

“Damage returned sevenfold,” Magnus hums. He gives Simon a once over, then gestures to the mark in question. “You banished Lilith with that thing?”

“News travels fast.” Simon straightens the hem of his jacket. Magnus rolls his eyes.

“Slow your roll there, Hero. We’re talking about the literal Queen of Hell,” Magnus reminds him. “I called Maryse to ask what happened after she arrived at the Institute.”

“Fair,” Simon says, a third of the way through his drink now. “Wait you called Maryse? So she didn’t forget you!”

“I don’t really see why she would,” Magnus points out.

“Yeah that’s true,” Simon mumbles. He rests his chin on his hand. “Hey...do you think anyone forgot Asmodeus?”

Magnus snorts at that. “If that hell-crawler had any loved ones to begin with, then I suppose so.” A beat passes as Magnus mulls over the thought. He thinks of years spent together in his youth as Asmodeus taught him horrific magic and began to call him son.

_I didn’t._

Magnus looks back out the window.

“Nice,” Simon nods his head as if this particular news satisfies him. Then, he takes on the sheepish expression Magnus knows as the look he gets right before asking a favor. “So, uh, do you mind if I stay here?” Simon asks. “Feel free to say no! I know you’ve got a lot going on. Maia’s...out of town, and I just don’t really want to be around Jordan or Kyle or whatever his name is.”

Magnus purses his lips and tilts his head as if considering Simon’s request. Then, with one last sip of his whisky, he uncrosses his knees and disturbs the air.

“I’ve set up a room for you. It’s to the left of the study,” He says. Simon nods and finishes his Bloody Mary with a gulp before standing. “Feel free to use any toiletries in the guest bathroom,” Magnus continues, banishing both cups to the dishwasher. “If you’re going to stay in my home, I’m not going to tolerate your cheap cologne.”

Simon frowns. “It’s not cheap. It cost me twenty dollars.”

Magnus lets out a long-suffering groan. “Just go, Sherwin.”

Simon shrugs, still frowning, as he ventures off in the general direction of the study. Magnus gets up to wander to his own room when Simon turns to look at him from the doorway.

The vampire catches Magnus’ gaze and holds it.

“We _will_ fix this, Magnus,” Simon says, eyes flinty in the loft’s low lighting. “I’ll help you find a way.”

“There may not be one,” Magnus replies. Simon shakes his head.

“Sometimes, we have to do what’s best for the people we love and let them go, believe me I know.” He chuckles, expression drawn, before speaking again. “But I don’t think you should do that. I haven’t known you or Alec for very long, but there’s no denying that what you have is special. We’ll figure something out.”

Simon closes the door, and Magnus is left alone with hopeful thoughts and an empty bed.


	2. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greek texts, a visit, and revelations.

Alec wakes up several times throughout the night. He’s not an easy sleeper by any means, but he’s bone-tired and he knows that peace doesn’t last. Sleeping now, long and deep, feels like a just reward for the past few months. But even so, the last couple of weeks since the Lilith incident leave him with eyebags and a strange anxiety that something is _missing_. He turns and stares at the empty space beside him for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

The sun peeks through his heavy curtains. Alec sighs and runs a hand down his face, resigning himself to a day with just five blissful hours of productive sleep. Though considering the fact that he’s still alive, he really shouldn’t complain.

He brushes his teeth and pulls on a pair of black jeans he doesn’t remember purchasing. They fit him well, even if they’re a bit too snug. He’ll thank Izzy after some coffee. Alec tucks away his phone and opens the door to the hallway.

Even in the early hours, the Institute bustles with activity. Shadowhunters mill through the Ops Center and flow past him in the hallways. They acknowledge him with short nods, and Alec almost makes it to the kitchen when a hand pulls on his arm. He turns and smiles when he catches sight of his mother.

“Good morning, Alec,” Maryse says. Her voice is soft, as it so often is since the divorce. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“Good morning. Is something wrong?” Alec asks, on edge as he always is when people want to talk to him before he’s had his caffeine.

Maryse takes in his serious expression and laughs it off. “No, it’s nothing like that. Relax, Alec. Valentine and Jonathan are dead, you banished Lilith, and saved your brother. Breathe, nothing is blowing up.” Alec flushes under her knowing gaze.  

“So uh, what’s up?” Alec asks again, posture easing as he leans in to hear her over the morning foot traffic.

“I was just hoping to get some coffee with you; my treat. There’s a shop down the street that I’ve been frequenting,” Maryse responds. “You’ve been going through so much recently, consider this a well-deserved break.”

“The Head of the Institute doesn’t have breaks,” Alec says, hands coming to settle at the small of his back. Maryse shakes her head and pins him with a stern look.

“The Head of the Institute will listen to his mother and get some coffee with her for the next hour.” Her brow raises in direct challenge to Alec’s diligence.

He tilts his head and shrugs, biting down a playful grin. “Who am I to disrespect my superior?”

Maryse nods with faux seriousness and loops her arm through his. “Let’s go. The morning crowd can get so awful. This place has the most delicious muffins. Did you know that Mundanes have thought to remove the bottoms altogether? They call them _muffies_. Isn’t that adorable?”

Alec bites back a remark about Mundane tendencies, taking in the sight of blemishless skin resting against his own. “Yeah, it is,” Alec agrees.

 

***

 

Alec holds the door open for his mother and a couple with matching to-go cups. They thank him as they scurry past, taking in his runes and his loom-worthy height. His eyes follow the pair for a moment before he turns and steps inside. The cafe smells like coffee and chocolate, giant murals of dancers decorate the walls. He finds his mother and she taps his arm to draw his attention to the front display.

“Look at that, Alec. _Muffies_. Right there. Isn’t that genius?” Maryse says, voice full of wonder as she tugs her son into line with her. “What do you want?” She asks. Alec scans the menu and settles for something practical.

“A black coffee,” He says. Maryse looks at him, expression full of scorn.

“Alec, you are going to enjoy your coffee, not chug it just to have it,” she huffs. “I know you have a sweet tooth, I’m getting you a caramel macchiato _and_ a muffie. Now go find us a table.” She shoos him away with a firm hand and mutters to herself. “Black coffee...as if he thinks I don’t know what kind of coffee he likes.”

Alec can’t hide the smile that splits his cheeks. He lingers and watches Maryse sort through her purse, fond. She looks up and catches him staring.

“Alec, hurry. These tables go fast, I’m telling you!” She insists. Alec nods and scopes a table near the street side of the cafe with two plush chairs. He settles in as she pays for their drinks and finds him, two muffies at the ready.

“Thanks, mom,” Alec says, taking the food she offers him.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she replies. “I’ll buy some for you to take back to the institute, Izzy and Jace will love these.” Alec laughs and bites into the pastry. It tastes of cinnamon and copious amounts of sugar. He loves it.

“This is good,” he mumbles, mouth full. She nods and opens her mouth when the barista calls out their names. Alec stands before she can say anything and walks over to pick up their drinks. He take a sip from his own as he hands the other to his mother.

They sit together in peace, the morning sunlight warms their skin as caffeine settles on their tongues. Alec waits. He knows that she wants to talk to him about something, no amount of muffie talk can hide his mother’s obvious intent.

“Alec, may I ask you something personal?”

There it is.

“Of course,” Alec replies. “What is it?”

She looks down at her hands before clearing her throat and meeting his gaze.

“Now that things have eased...Have you thought about dating?”

Whatever Alec expected, this isn’t it. He clears his throat and swallows the thought of Magnus Bane back into his throat.

“I, uh, haven’t really had time to do that,” Alec says, picking up his cup and drinking to give himself something to do.

“I know,” Maryse says. “And that’s not fair to you. Izzy and Jace have both managed to date during all of this. Do you have your eye on anyone? I know a couple eligible men who would be quite interested.” Her voice is careful, a thin veneer of _something_ nagging at Alec’s thoughts.

If nothing else, it’s clear to Alec that she’s talking about one man in particular.  So he decides to bite the bullet and clear any thought of that man from her mind.

“I do, actually,” Alec says.

Maryse sits back and considers him with a kinder version of the look she used on him as a child. As if she’s hiding something from him. Alec doesn’t know how he feels about it.

“I see,” she murmurs. “May I ask who?”

 _Magnus Bane_ , Alec thinks.

“You, uh, you don’t know him,” Alec fumbles.

“Is that so?” She sounds contemplative. Alec almost wants to tell her the truth. But as much as he loves his mother, and as much as she is trying, the idea of him crushing on the former High Warlock of Brooklyn sounds like a bit too much. He gives it a shot anyway.

“He’s not a Shadowhunter,” Alec admits. He runs a fingernail along the underside of his cup lid. “He’s...uh, he’s a warlock.” Maryse doesn’t say anything at first, and then a low.

“Oh.”

Alec winces, opening his mouth when she nudges his knee with her own. Small bits of conversation and the sound of milk steaming trickle in and out of the white noise in Alec’s mind. Through it all, Maryse calls Alec’s attention with her next words.

“That’s wonderful, dear. What’s his name? I want to hear all about him.” Maryse leans in close. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “C’mon, don’t be shy.” Alec stares at her in mild disbelief. She laughs, rolling and warm in a way Alec finds nostalgic. “Don’t forget that I’m dating a werewolf. The local alpha to be specific,” she says with a pointed look. There’s a layer to her expression that Alec still can’t interpret, and he watches her carefully as he takes in a deep breath.

“It’s um...Magnus Bane.” Alec remembers a golden gaze and the deep concern he found there. A smile tugs at his lips. “The um, former High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

“Oh, Alec,” she whispers. “I know who he is.”

“I know he has a reputation,” Alec says, aware of Magnus’ Clave records if nothing else about him.

“Alec,” Maryse interrupts. She sets a comforting hand on his shoulder and moves to tilt his chin up. Without any escape routes, brown and hazel meet, both full of conviction. “Magnus Bane is a wonderful man. I think you would be a beautiful couple.” Alec searches her face and finds nothing but genuine approval and something that strikes him as _pride_.

“Yeah?” Alec murmurs, awestruck by her fervent support. She nods and almost looks as if she’s going to cry. “Mom, what’s wrong?” She sucks in a shaky breath and brushes off his concern.

“It’s nothing,” she says, then she perks up and shoots him a sly look. “But isn’t that a coincidence! I was hoping to stop by and get a sleeping potion, but I have a job interviews all of today. Do you think you could do me a favor, Alec?”

Alec laughs as he realizes his mother is trying to help set him up with an unsavory warlock she hated not even a year ago. The strangeness is not lost on him. He's grateful all the same.

“I’d love to.” 

*** 

Pink and red bleed through the study windows as the sun sets outside their sanctuary.  Low music plays from the record player Simon insists on using while they research. Magnus likes the music, but he always makes a point to sigh in exasperation every time Simon labors over what vinyl to play.

Simon pulls out another textbook and sets it on Magnus’ table with a thump. Dust flies up from the impact. He flips open the cover and frowns.

“What language is this?” He asks. Magnus peeks over at his quarry and turns back to the clear-mind elixir he’s brewing for them both. All of the information is hard to muddle through, and they could do with a relaxing tincture.

“It’s Greek,” Magnus hums. “That one is about protection and barrier spells. I doubt you’ll find anything of use.” A dash of lavender in the cauldron sends up a humid puff of magic, deflating Magnus’ hair. He frowns before sending Simon a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, Sherwin. As you get older, you’ll start learning languages for when you travel. All immortals do,” Magnus says with a wink. Then, he sobers. “We were planning a trip to Greece.”

Simon winces. “Oh shit. Magnus, don’t worry, man. We’re only halfway through your study. There has to be a counter spell in here somewhere.” He scans the pages with renewed vigor, as if a hard enough stare will translate the words for him. “If not...well we can always invade Camille’s place. I don’t think she actually cares about all those books she has.” Simon wrinkles his nose. Despite his clumsiness, Simon’s earnest efforts remind Magnus of Alec’s well-intentioned _everything_.

“Think nothing of it,” Magnus says. Simon nods, but it’s obvious that he plans to think about his misstep quite a bit, fingers fidgeting at the corner of each worn page.

It hurts; but thinking of Alexander, finding him in small everyday things, keeps Magnus going. He knows that Alec is going on without him, the life of a Shadowhunter is fast and unforgiving. The relative radio silence from the Downworld stands testament to the fact that the Institute is still as busy as ever. Though that might just be because he doesn’t belong among any of it anymore.

Magnus can swallow the pain of silence and hours spent poring over pretentious warlock script waxing poetic about the multiple uses of dragon scales and crows’ feet.

He knows he’s being selfish. Alec loses nothing from their separation, and part of Magnus wants to give up and let Alec live out his years with a mortal lover who comes without four hundred years of baggage.

But even on the concrete of a dark alley, shivering from blood loss and the creeping New York chill, Alec looked up at him with the same heart-stopping wonder he always did.

That thought prompts him to return to his task, and they work together to the sound of low music. The doorbell rings, and Magnus doesn’t bother checking the wards. They’ve been on the fritz since his return from Edom. The entire loft seems to still be reeling from Asmodeus’ influence.

“Shirley, do you mind getting the door?” Magnus’ runs his fingers through his limp hair and wipes away sweat beading on his cheek. Simon abandons the Greek text with a nod. He marks his page and vanishes, leaving a breeze in his wake.

Magnus hears the door open as he prepares the potion for ingestion. He adds two faefly wings as the sound of polite conversation drift in from the foyer. Then, Simon is standing in the doorway with a reluctant expression. The vampire shuffles in his worn grey socks and gestures over his shoulder.

“Were you expecting him? He uh--”

“Magnus Bane?” The low voice sends warmth into Magnus’ gut and the phantom touch of archer’s fingers down his spine. Footsteps sound on his hardwood floors, pausing as they grow near.

Magnus summons all of his courage to quiet the fluttering in his stomach.

“Alexander Lightwood,” Magnus says, turning to greet his guest and finding himself unable to look away from Alec’s piercing hazel eyes. It’s like it’s always been. Alec lights a ceaseless fire inside of Magnus that consumes him whole and births him from the ashes.

Like the first time they met. Like the last time they laid together. Like every kiss they’ve ever shared.

And like before, Magnus knows without a doubt, that what he feels echoes back at him in Alec’s body language. He can’t give up, but he can’t give into Alec here. This isn’t fair.

Alec looks tired despite the peace since Lilith’s banishment. He stands in parade rest, though it’s clear from the subtle shift of his weight, that he wants to do something. What that is, Magnus doesn’t know.

So he turns away.

“What can I do for you? I’m no longer the High Warlock of Brooklyn,” Magnus says with a twinge in his stomach and a sigh. “If you’re here on official business then I should warn you that doing business with me could anger Lorenzo Rey.”

“What he means to say is that he’ll still help if you need anything,” Simon interjects, reminding Magnus that the vampire is still in the room. “I’ve got some research to do, but Lorenzo is a busy man and Magnus is the best _._ _Right_ , Magnus?”

Simon smiles at him with brilliant white teeth. The daylighter strides toward the table and points at the Greek text laying two feet away from the still bubbling potion, treating it with interest even though it’s obvious that he can’t read any of it.

Alec looks between them as they exchange silent words. Magnus hopes he doesn’t appear as panicked as he feels. Alec’s attention moves to him and Magnus feels a little giddy to feel the weight of those eyes on him again.

Oh, that’s right. Alec is waiting for him to speak.

“I’m no amateur, that’s for sure,” Magnus says, still able to find some pride in his skills despite his struggles with the monumental task of undoing his father’s magic. Alec chuckles and Magnus almost has a heart attack. “Just let me take a moment to bottle this potion and I’ll be right with you.” Magnus spins on his heel and busies himself with glass bottles and remembers, with horror, how awful he must look. Nothing to be done about it now.

After he’s set aside the tincture, handing to Simon with strict instructions to drink it _slowly,_ Magnus walks to the door and gestures Alec to follow him into the living room.

Magnus turns, and Alec is there in his space, smelling of clinical Clave-issued soap.

He reaches out to pull Alec close and turns it into a friendly pat on the arm. The sight of Alec in his home—their home, hold Magnus fast. In all of the chaos, some of Alec’s possession hide amongst Magnus’ own, blending in because that’s where they belong.

A surreptitious snap of his fingers, and all of Alec’s things disappear. Alec doesn’t seem to notice.

Magnus sits in his favorite armchair. Alec sinks, as if on instinct, into the worn black chair that creaks as it settles. Magnus tries to swallow around the insistent lump in his throat.

“Would you like a drink, Alec? I have ple—.”

“Alexander,” Alec interrupts. “You called me Alexander earlier. Then you called me Alec and...ugh, nevermind.” Alec cuts himself short and frowns the same way Magnus remembers him frowning when he’s dealing with self doubt.

“I can continue calling you Alexander if you’d like,” Magnus murmurs. Alec nods and smiles, ducking his head as he leans closer.

“I’d like that.”

***

Every glimpse of Magnus Bane sends Alec reeling. Magnus Bane in a dark alleyway is nothing in the face of Magnus Bane in his loft. Not only is the man that much more beautiful in proper lighting, but he walks with a poise that comes with absolute confidence.

This is Magnus Bane’s domain. It reeks of magic and particular taste that Alec finds much more attractive than he has the right to. The loft and the institute couldn’t differ more; warm reds, playful designs, and deep purples populate all the same spaces clinical Clave colors would otherwise occupy. Despite this, they both give Alec an unshakeable sense of _home_ , and the thought leaves Alec grasping for reasons why.

“So then, Alexander. I never got my answer,” Magnus hedges, lips lifting upward at the corners. “Would you like a drink?”

I only drink when I’m with my family, Alec thinks.

“I’d love one,” he says instead. Magnus nods and summons two cups with a wave of his hand. “Thank you,” Alec murmurs. He takes a sip. It’s a fruity wine that suits his picky taste in alcohol. A happy coincidence.

“How is it?” Magnus asks, busying himself with straightening assorted trinkets with a flick of the wrist. Alec’s eyes follow the lines of Magnus’ arms, up his neck, and along his jawline.

“Delicious,” Alec replies. Magnus doesn’t seem to notice his blatant staring. Alec lets out a deep sigh, and wonders what he should do if he gets caught.

“I’m glad,” Magnus nods. He takes a drink, his legs crossing at the knees. “Now, what is it I can do for you? If you’re looking for a demon summoning or anything requiring High Warlock approval, I’m afraid I can’t help.”

Alec takes another sip and summons all of his bravery.

“Actually...I was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab a drink?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” Magnus teases. Alec takes in Magnus’ smirk and wonders if the teeth-worried lips are as soft as they look.

“Well...I was thinking about something more along the lines of a date,” Alec says. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life, and maybe get to know you better.” A nervous laugh forces itself from his throat, and Alec hopes to become one with his chair so that Magnus forgets how presumptuous he is, asking a man like Magnus on a date.

Magnus looks at him, expression confused and almost sad. Alec wants to reach out and rub those lines away.

“A date?”  Two words, weighing the air with a heady tang of longing.

All of the uncertainty in Alec washes away as he realizes that Magnus is hurting. Something in his life is causing the creases that worry his forehead, weighing heavy on his shoulders. Beneath the veneer of make up, the smell of potions, and a silk button up, Magnus looks like a dead man walking. As if he’s fighting to stay upright and moving. Almost as if he’s grieving.

Alec remembers the potion and the presence of Clary’s friend. Maybe Santiago--the vampire is still missing and he’s a prominent member of the Downworld. They must be close for Magnus to mourn like this.

If Magnus is hurting, Alec wants to help.

_Let me ease the pain. There’s a connection we have that I can’t fight. A connection I don’t want to fight._

“A date,” Alec confirms.  

Magnus looks like he’s trying to figure out how to word his rejection. Then he opens his mouth.

“Alexander, you don’t owe me anything.”

It takes a moment for Alec to understand. He searches Magnus’ eyes for an explanation, then, a cold horror ices his veins.

“You think I’m asking you out because you saved my life?” Alec says, aghast.

An unsettling image of a wounded, cornered soul, flits through Alec’s mind. Magnus looks almost resigned; anticipating another blow to defend himself from. The thought of Magnus, heart bleeding and vulnerable, splits Alec in two.

Magnus clears his throat and looks away. “I don’t want you to feel obli-”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Alec confesses. “Ever since that night I’ve wanted to see you and I thought you were _beautiful_ . And I won’t lie, I’m grateful that you saved me and that you did so much for us, but there was something _more_.” He tries to grasp for more words to say, but he can’t think anything beyond: “You’ve unlocked something in me.”

The loft is quiet. Magnus sitting stock still as his fingers flex and clench in his lap.

“And the Clave? I’m a Downworlder.”

“Fuck the Clave,” Alec says. Unafraid now of the once mighty organization that almost killed his entire family. Magnus lets out a snort of amusement.

They lapse into silence.

“A date then.” His is voice soft, with none of the confidence Alec is used to.

The quiet acceptance feels like something important.

Alec settles on grinning from ear to ear and reaches out to lay a hand on Magnus’. For a moment, he thinks it’s too much too fast, and pulls away. Magnus turns his palm upward before Alec can. The warlock lets Alec’s fingers twine with his own, archer’s fingers stymying their anxious movement. They sit in silence until they finish their drinks.

 

***

 

Magnus wishes his nails weren’t chipping. He can see the remains of a manicure, the blue varnish bright against Alec’s fair skin. Alec’s hand is as sturdy as ever. Calluses from Shadowhunter training press curious shapes into Magnus’ soft skin.

He wants this back, the real thing. He wants _His_ _Alexander_. So Magnus wills himself to speak.

“I have to get back to my research,” he murmurs, trying not to show his regret. Alec’s grip tightens around his fingers.

“When are you free?” Alec asks. He looks at Magnus with the same determination and tentative hope he always has in his eyes when they try something new together. Magnus expects he’ll be seeing that look a lot.

Magnus makes a low noise as he considers his answer. Then, a thought strikes him. “Are you sure you have the time?”

“It’s been peaceful since Lilith was banished, so I’m pretty flexible right now.” Alec laughs. He shakes his head, the movement jostling Magnus. “I never thought I’d say that.”

Magnus feels the laughter as it travels to Alec’s fingertips. He doesn’t want to let go.

“How about the day after tomorrow. In the evening?” Magnus suggests. “At eight?”

Alec glows, lighting up the whole room. “That sounds perfect. I’ll come pick you up.” Then, he stands, so Magnus stands with him.

They walk to the door together, and Alec turns to Magnus before he steps into the hallway. He raises their joined hands and presses a kiss to one of Magnus’ rings.

And then he’s gone, the large wooden door shutting behind him.

Elation takes a backseat to misery as reality drapes over the loft once more.

Magnus walks through the ghost of Alec’s presence to pour himself another tumbler of whisky. He downs it in one go.

Alec’s warmth sweeps him up in familiar feelings that make him forget, that make him want for the beautiful torture of having what _isn’t his anymore_. Because no matter how many dates, or how many futures they have, Magnus doesn’t know if he’ll ever be courageous enough to open himself up again.

And his fear, the fear of losing Alec to vengeance or time, has already been exploited once. Magnus lied to himself thinking it would never happen. His Alexander warded him from that fear with strength and conviction. But His Alexander is gone. This Alec is naive and sweet and wants to date as if it’s simple. And it never is.

Even with all the freedom in the world, This Alec is not His Alexander.

Magnus can’t let This Alec suffer for his selfishness. He cannot let his weakness put Alec in the same position as the ghost of who he once was. So he’ll let Alec go until it’s time. A date, because that’s what Alec wants, and Magnus cannot deny Alec anything. But after, he must let Alec go free.

He tells Simon he’s going to bed, and cries himself to sleep.

***

Alec spots Izzy as soon as he enters the Institute. She’s wearing a dark green crop top and a pair of pleather pants that remind Alec of the warlock he _has a date with_. The thought blooms in his chest.

She pauses at the sight of him and approaches him with the rhythmic tap of heels on sterile floors. “Hey, where’ve you been?” It’s clear to Alec that she’s aiming for a casual tone, but the discretion is ruined by her suggestive smile.

“I uh, just ran an errand for mom,” Alec says, glad for an excuse. But in truth, he feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin. “Went to Magnus Bane for a sleeping potion.”

“A sleeping potion?” Isabelle repeats.

“Yeah, a sleeping potion. Is there an echo in here?” Alec asks.

She raises a brow at him and gives him a once over. “So where is it? The sleeping potion?” Alec rolls his eyes and reaches for the potion, which he does not have because he was too busy asking Magnus Bane on a date to remember the reason he had for being at Magnus’ loft in the first place.

Alec searches for an excuse. Something, _anything_ , that might make his confession a little less awkward. He comes up empty handed and Isabelle gestures with her free hand for him to keep digging a bigger hole for himself. So he lets out a deep sigh and gestures down the hall.

“My office?” His eyes dip away from her arching brow as she grins like the cat that caught the canary.

“After you,” she says.

Shadowhunters follow the pair with their eyes and Alec cannot figure out why. There are no acknowledgements, only clandestine glances from multiple directions as they walk past hovering blue screens and maps of the city. Under normal circumstances, he’d tell them all to get back to work, but the anticipation for his date hums under his skin and quells the irritation that needles his patience with each passing gaze.

They make it through the Ops Center and up the main stairs, walking over reinforced glace and gleaming metal as they make their way to Alec’s quarters. They walk through the dim hallways and turn into Alec’s office before closing the heavy oak door.

Alec walks inside, nervous and agitated, focusing on concealing the excitement tumbling in his stomach. He crosses his arms and hovers by the unlit fireplace, watching as Isabelle pauses between the leather armchairs and his desk. She turns on the desk lamp.

“Why do people stare like that? Don’t they have work to do?” Alec mutters.

“People stare because you look like you just got promoted to Clave Council, except we all know that’s already happened and you turned it down. Why did you turn it down again?” Izzy asks.

Alec wracks his brain. For the second time within just a few scant minutes, Alec comes up short. “I uh, I don’t know I don’t really remember.”

“That was around the time mom came back from Idris so maybe that's why. It’s all so crazy, I can barely keep everything straight,” Izzy mutters.

It doesn’t sound right, but Alec doesn’t have anything better to offer.

“I mean, is it really so unusual that I’m smiling?” Alec asks.

Izzy’s smile returns, excited and vicious. “Why do you think I asked you where you were?” She sits on Alec’s desk, ignoring his half-hearted protests as she shoves his paperwork off to the side. After getting comfortable, Isabelle turns her attention back toward him, the line of her teeth glinting in the lamp’s soft orange glow.

“So where’s Mom’s sleeping potion? Since that’s why you went to visit Magnus Bane by yourself despite only having met him once before when he saved your life? Hm?”

Alec knows Isabelle too well to expect her to let this go. So he resigns himself to telling her, when a thought strikes him. Why is he even bothering to hide this? Isabelle loves him, she’s always been his greatest support and she’s never given him a reason to doubt her. All of the emotion he tamps down in front of the others are welcome here with her. This isn’t a clandestine and forbidden love that he’s feared for his whole life. Isabelle is not the eyes of the nosey Shadowhunters in the Ops Center. She’s his sister.

He wants to share this with her. He wants to tell her about this new experience and how he’s feeling and he wants her to know how he feels about _Magnus._  So he laughs and looks at her, shoulders relaxing and voice giddy.

“I didn’t buy the potion because I was too busy asking Magnus on a date.”

She stares at him, her disbelieving expression telling him that she didn’t expect it to be this easy. But he wants it to be this easy. It’s an openness he’s always craved and now he has to the chance to experience it because she squeals and leaps at him for a hug.

“By Raziel you asked _Magnus Bane_ on a date? Like, hot warlock owner of Pandemonium Magnus Bane?” Alec nods, a bit of pride leaking out as he listens to her speak. “Alec that’s so amazing! Does Jace know?” She talks a mile a minute, arms wrapping around him with a strength he envies a bit. “Wait what did he say? If he said no I’ll kill him, I don’t care if it breaks the Accords.” Alec shakes his head. At this point, he’s not even bothering to fight the smile that splits his face from ear to ear. He feels a blush that’s burning across his cheeks and up his neck.

“Izzy, he said yes.”

“He did?” She breathes. Then, she lifts her head and nods. “I mean, of course he did; because first of all, no one is this happy about being rejected, and secondly, you’re the best person he’ll ever meet and he’s lucky that you asked him.” Her voice grows soft as she looks up at him, eyes tender and glistening at the edges. She pulls away and grabs his hands before pulling him over to the couch. “I’m so happy for you! Tell me _everything_.”

Alec feels every drop of anxiety fall away as he looks deep into her big, brown eyes, so similar to their mother’s. His mother who supports him. He has people who love him. He has people who want to know _everything_.

So he opens his mouth.

“He’s everything I could ever dream of…”


	3. The Funny Broken Lock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight, a fire, and billiards.

Magnus loves research. He loves to learn and apply his knowledge to the world around him, but this feels different. It’s arduous and exhausting.There’s no finish line, no high-pressure situation to churn adrenaline in his veins. There is no self-motivated curiosity to stoke his studies. Only hollow suspense.

They’ve been at it all morning, and Magnus groans his way through a text concerning historical accounts of demons showing up topside.

When Luke’s name pops up on Magnus’ caller ID, Magnus accepts the call and puts it on speakerphone. He sets his phone on the table.

“Hello?”

“Magnus Bane?” Luke confirms, voice low and comforting. Magnus swallows disappointment.

“Speaking,” Magnus says. “What can I help you with, Mr. Garroway?”

Luke chuckles, and the familiar sound strikes over Magnus like a wave, frigid and disarming. “Call me Luke. I need some help dealing with some rogue werewolves that have popped up on police radar. They’re attacking Mundanes, turning or eating them. I’m having some...problems with the local pack and I don’t want to go into this without backup.”

Directing Luke to Lorenzo turns Magnus’ stomach, but his pride doesn’t matter at times like these, and Luke needs all the help he can get. “Have you spoken to Lorenzo Rey? He’s the High Warlock in this area.”

The line goes quiet for a moment.

“This isn’t warlock business, and I don’t trust Lorenzo as far as I can throw him,” Luke admits. He pauses, then continues, whispering this time. “Someone suggested I reach out to you. Said you’ve done good work for the Institute.” Luke clears his throat. “My, uh, girlfriend actually. Maryse Trueblood. She said that you’d be willing to help. Do you know her?” The real question lingers as Luke waits for Magnus to respond.

Magnus’ mouth dries out.

“Yes, I do. I’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Luke says. “How much do I owe you?”

“ No charge,” Magnus says. “I’m just glad to be of service.”

“Are you sure? It’s going to be dangerous business,” Luke warns. “There’s no guarantee we’ll make it out of this alive.”

Magnus laughs. Leave it to Luke to try and protect a stranger even at his own expense.

“I think I can handle it. I’ll be at the police station in 10 minutes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bane.”

“Please, call me Magnus.”  

 

***

 

Magnus sees Jace before Jace sees him. The blond shadowhunter checks his phone, texting as he loiters around the front of the police station. Mundanes flow around him, the glamour hiding his runes paint him as any other upstanding member of society. Jace looks up and spots him. So Magnus approaches, eager to see a familiar face.

“Blondie.”

Jace laughs and holds out a hand. “Actually, it’s Jace, but it looks like my reputation precedes me. You must be Magnus Bane, it’s nice to finally meet you.”  

Magnus’ chest clenches and he reaches for the certainty he kept out of desperation. This doesn’t make sense. This _doesn’t make sense._  But it does, he realizes; and it’s real, and Magnus has never wanted anyone to resent him before. Not until now.  

“Don’t mess with me, Jace,” Magnus says, more desperate than he’ll ever admit.

The blond frowns, hand falling back to his side. “I promise I’m not messing with you. I know shadowhunters and warlocks aren’t exactly best friends, but I’ve heard good things about you.” Jace’s shoulders ease as he shoots Magnus a crooked smile. “The Institute couldn’t lend any other fighters, but Luke said we’d have a bit of extra oomph to take on the wolves. He figured we’d be enough.”

“Well, I suppose I’m that extra oomph,” Magnus says, expression wan.

“Much appreciated, man,” Jace grins, clapping a firm hand against Magnus’ arm. He lets out a low whistle and laughs. “Even if you didn’t have magic, I think you’d still be a force to be reckoned with. You should come to the Institute sometime to train.”

“You’re friendlier than I remember,” Magnus mutters.

“What?” Jace asks, squinting into the setting sun.

“Nothing.”

Jace shrugs. “My brother Alec said you saved his life. Said you’re the reason I’m not Lilith's puppet anymore.” He turns and levels Magnus with an awkward, but grateful smile. “I owe you, man. The Institute does too. Don’t be afraid to call on us if you need us.” Luke walks out of the building and waves them over. Jace gives Magnus one last nod and trots off.

Magnus stares at his back and thinks about the unexpected reality that Jace Herondale loved him once. Jace Herondale, a kinder version of him at least, wants to be his friend.

He straightens his sleeves and walks up to the pair.

“Well, gentlemen. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

 

***

It almost seems stupid to call rogue werewolves _vicious_. Of course they’re fucking vicious, Magnus thinks. That doesn’t make it any less true.

He moves with his magic and flings a surge of energy into the side of a grey wolf, sending it careening into a wooden crate. The warehouse echoes with snarls and the sound of gnashing teeth, all nine of the bloodthirsty pack eager to tear chunks from Magnus’ favorite jacket. He can hear the gold filigree straining as he grips a handful of brown fur to pin down a wolf trying to leap at Jace from behind. Jace turns and kicks it hard enough to knock it unconscious and Magnus tosses the deadweight to the side as it reverts back. This. He can do _this_.

Luke and the alpha are facing one on one, leaving Jace and Magnus to duke it out with the remaining wolves beneath the dusty yellowing lights that swing with every slam of bodies against wooden walls. Three of the wolves are now unconscious. They slump against broken boxes, naked and human, as the madness ebbs and flows around them.

Jace and Magnus charge as one, pressing inward from the door to the far wall. Desperation mounts as they inch further toward the back, eyes on a makeshift cage, where the pack is keeping the kidnapped Mundanes. As their pack members fall, the wolves become more savage. It’s clear that they are willing to die.

Five left. Jace and Magnus fight back to back, red energy and a glowing seraph blade dancing together to fend off teeth and take advantage of wolfish arrogance. Jace steps forward to take the brunt of an attack from the largest, the pack beta, landing a punch on its side. Magnus binds its maw together with a muzzle made of crackling electricity and Jace kicks it hard enough to send it flying.

They keep moving. Magic leaks from every pore of Magnus’ body as he lets himself weaponize all of the despair and anger inside of him. He grinds debris beneath his suede chelsea boots. The building is a fashion nightmare, with cloying dust and tarps covered in a residue that smells like mold. There’s blood on his pants but he can’t spare the energy to banish it. They’re red anyway; he’ll live.

A flicker of movement to the left, then, two are on them. Claws carve lines in the concrete as both wolves attack together. Magnus draws up a wall that catches them at their stomachs. Jace charges through lingering energy and bulldozes over them. As they revert, Jace turns, eyes widening.

“On your six!” Jace yells. Magnus whips around. He takes a hard drag of the beta’s claws in his side. He screams in pain and blasts it in the chest. The beta lets out a pitiful whine and sinks to the ground. Blood leaks down his side and pools at his waistband before soaking in.

Jace leans in and lets out a noise of sympathy. “You okay?”

“Doing swimmingly,” Magnus replies. He heals up just enough to stay standing. He sheds the remains of his jacket with a mournful sigh, and they continue moving.

There are only two left. Each wolf growls and bares their teeth, edging backward to stand in front of the makeshift cage.

Behind them, Magnus can see four hostages, all appearing under the age of twelve. The eldest, a youth with cropped black hair, sits on threadbare blankets. They hold two twin girls close in a protective embrace. A tiny boy lays across their lap, chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths. Dried blood stains their clothes. They stare at him, eyes full of fear and hope.

Magnus trembles. He unleashes a wave of furious magic that has both remaining wolves cowering. He jerks his head. “Jace, free the kids.” The Shadowhunter nods and pushes past him to break the lock. Magnus binds both remaining pack members with rope.

They trade places. Jace letting Magnus past to see to the hostages.

Magnus sinks to his knees. “Hey,” he whispers. “I know you must be scared, but we’re here to save you.” He waits for them to acknowledge him. Three heads nod. The smallest is still unconscious, and upon further observation, shivering.

Magnus sends a fire message to Catarina and prays to a god he doesn’t believe in.

 

_Children in danger. Possibly bitten by werewolves. Please help._

_M.Bane_

 

A response appears in moments.

 

_I work at St. Ambrose Hospital. If you have been there, I will be waiting in the outer courtyard by the fountain._

_C. Loss_

 

Magnus knows the place well.

He calls up a portal. Catarina steps through and takes in her surroundings. She is still wearing her scrubs.

“Magnus Bane?” She asks, eyes flitting from him to her soon-to-be charges.

“That’s me,” Magnus confirms. He steps to the side and gestures behind him. “Please.”

She nods, striding forward with open arms. The nurse uniform seems to comfort the children as they crowd around her, clinging to her legs. She picks up the boy and presses her forehead to his.

Catarina frowns. “He has an infection. I have to get him to my apartment. I will send you a fire message with my address.”

Magnus tamps down the reassurance that he doesn’t need it. He hears Luke fighting behind him; the sounds of flesh rending and claws scrabbling across concrete ground him as he wavers, on the brink of collapse beneath her impersonal words and professional gaze.

“Thank you,” he says. Catarina nods and adjusts her grip on the boy in her arms. She turns to escort the three kids through the portal, whispering encouragements to get them to trust the strange magic.

Magnus looks away as it snaps shut.

At the end of it all, he and Jace stand together, bearing witness as Luke rips out the rogue alpha’s throat.

***

“Thank you for your help, both of you. It’s greatly appreciated,” Luke says. “ Magnus, if you don’t mind, I’d like to check in on those kids. Is it okay if we stay in contact?”

“Of course,” Magnus smiles. The beginnings of a friendship Magnus already knows fit him like a glove. “I’ll reach out to Catarina. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to let you help.”

They decide to turn the werewolves in to the Clave. The remainder of the pack bows under Luke’s sway, his status as their new alpha easing the process of taking them into custody. Magnus opens a portal for Luke, the standing werewolf representative.

Luke nods to Magnus, then Jace. “You both get home safe.” He jerks his head toward the eight rogue wolves and escorts them through the portal.

The idea of parting with Jace hurts more than Magnus expects. So he offers to heal Jace’s wounds. The shadowhunter agrees and sits, scrolling through his phone as Magnus heals the heaviest bruises and the beginnings of a sprain in Jace’s wrist.

Jace snorts. “Hey, Magnus, do you wanna tell me why my brother just asked me for dating advice?”  

“No,” Magnus says. Putting pressure on a purpling bruise before healing it. Jace doesn’t bat an eyelash at the intentional ache.

“I’ve got a date with Magnus Bane tomorrow and I don’t know what to do,” Jace reads aloud. He raises a brow and nudges Magnus and shows him the phone screen. “That doesn’t sound like something you can shed some light on?”

Magnus rolls his eyes and focuses on cleaning off his boots. “Not at all.”

Jace eyes him with a smug grin, ignoring the blood beginning to flake off their clothes. “I uh...I think he’s a virgin. So if you guys end up fooling around, be nice to him?” His phone dings again before Magnus can respond beyond an amused snort. Jace unlocks the screen and scoffs. “You’re not gonna stand him up tomorrow night are you?”

Magnus frowns.

“I don’t plan on it, no.”

“Good, because I’d have to kill you if you did, and you’re not a bad guy,” Jace says. “But I do kind of have to ask...what are your intentions with my brother? No offense but you’ve got a pretty long wrap sheet, and not just the demon headcount kind.”

Magnus doesn’t know how to answer. There are so many intentions he has for Alec, so many things that he wants to, that they’ve already done, and he hopes to do them again. He thinks about the books lying open in his study, and Simon who seems hell-bent on learning Greek in his efforts to help. He thinks of a future where Alec will never know all of the trials they fought through, together. Through it all, one thought remains.

“I suppose my intentions are to just to be by his side,” Magnus says.

Jace studies him for a long moment. Then, he shrugs his shoulders and looks away.

“That’s all I can ask for.”

***

Magnus walks into the loft.

“Simon?” He calls, tentative as he examines the rooms and hallways. All empty. His hands shake as he raises them to cast a warding spell. No one in, nothing out; not sound nor destruction or even cries for help. Just him and his magic.

He finds himself back in the foyer. The heavy wooden doors separate him from the rest of the world, isolation granting him both peace and desolation.

Since returning from Edom, Magnus’ life has been full of perpetual white noise and static. He tries. Every moment of every day is spent _doing_. Searching, fighting, and unraveling at the seams. But now, in this palace of solitude, there is nothing and no one to hear him in his miserable exhaustion.

He crumples to the ground. His feet sprawl out in front of him, graceless and indelicate. The wood presses against him. The loft smells like old leather and books and one-sided memories and _this isn’t fair._

Magic burns hot inside of him, hopelessness overflowing, leaking from his fingertips to sear lines of pain and anger across the floor. Tendrils of fire lick up the walls. The curtains and furniture go up in flames, flecks of once-beautiful fabric wafting in the air.

Everything that was once mine, Magnus thinks, vicious and pathetic as he relishes in reducing his loft to the same cinders of his shattered heart. How do you convey a wound no one can see? How do you share anguish that no one can understand but you?

For all his years, Magnus still doesn’t know. Being alone. Living in the husk of his own life, it’s too much, and the loft burns. His vases, the first copy of his book on portal theory, a picture drawn for him by Madzie’s tiny hand.

The fire stops. It slips around the edges of the crayon likenesses of three warlocks and a shadowhunter, skittering along the brick to consume an original Da Vinci sketch instead. Magnus stares, watching as his own magic, demonic and devastating, brings everything to ruin, but spares the things that remind him of those he loves the most.

A small mundane device from Luke. A white trinket, because he insisted that Magnus should know where his keys are even if he doesn’t use them, falls as the fire consumes the end table it was tucked in. A potted plant that Isabelle brought over because she already killed her last two, and Alec told her that he wouldn’t let her take in another innocent succulent. A small chalk piece from Clary, hanging next to her mother’s own handiwork, the edges of Jocelyn’s art beginning to singe. Even a fucking extra rubber that Jace snuck into one of the drawers of his once-grand armoire.

Piles of books gifted to him by Catarina over the years. Collections of ancient and practical applications of magic that he’d always turned his nose up at so he had an excuse to invite her over for another glass of wine. The rosary Raphael gave him when the vampire still struggled to say _God_.

Ragnor’s favorite teapot. A selfish gift from sometime in the first two centuries of their time together, Magnus’ teapot in name alone. It sits, untouched, in a glass display case next to the matching pair of teacups painted with god awful green cabbages. It always made them laugh. Even on their darkest days. And it works still, drawing a weak chuckle from the depths of his anguish.

Then, Magnus watches as the fire peters out.

An armchair. Black, well-loved, oft sat in on days where making it to the bedroom was just too much. A small spot from demon ichor stains an ugly imprint near its scuffed, uneven feet. A lonesome shape left standing on scorched ground.

Alec’s. Alec’s favorite chair. A chair that held them close as they argued over their future and made love and everything in between.

So he cries. Full, gulping swallows of mucus and tears that run into his open mouth as he wails with abandon. He’s suffocating. It feels like he’s choking on volcanic ash and glacial ice, knowing that the suffering will never end as long as the world keeps turning.

Luke. Jace. Catarina. Alec. All of the people he has yet to see again, each one wringing more harsh breaths he doesn’t want to take anymore. Would it be so terrible to die in silence? _Yes_ , his heart whispers.It would.

His heart bemoans its insurmountable agony, and it may never stop trying to escape the white hot shackles of fear. But if he could see Alec again, if he could see his loved ones again and open his heart once more; he has to try. He will return their memories.

And if Alec wants a date, he’ll get one; no matter how much it fills Magnus with cold apprehension. No matter how much of him will want to confess everything and hope Alec will believe the maniacal ravings of a disenfranchised warlock. He will do anything.

So he stands, still sobbing, and begins to put everything back together.

***

“Hey, I just got back from hanging out with your boy,” Jace says, throwing himself onto Alec’s office couch.

Alec rolls his eyes and continues with his paperwork. Then Jace’s words register. “Firstly, Clave records clock him in at over 400 years old. Secondly, you just got back from doing _what?_ ”

“Luke, Magnus, and I just took down a rogue pa—”

“Yeah, I know that’s where you were. I didn’t know Magnus was going to be there,” Alec mutters.

“Oh, would you have come with? You were _so_ busy before,” Jace says, expression wolfish.

“Luke said he had extra help and you know we’re short staffed.” The words tumble out of Alec’s mouth as he tries to think of all the ways he _could_ have been there.

At that, Jace decides to be merciful. “Relax, Alec. I know we’re shorthanded. It’s been peaceful here and the Clave’s been re-assigning people right and left.” Jace doesn’t mention the group of twelve that left after the minor coup held last month. Raj put the ley lines at risk. Alec’s glad he’s gone, but he does regret not being able to join Jace out in the field.

Fighting alongside Magnus sounds...invigorating. He regrets missing out on that too.

Then another thought hits him. “Jace are you injured at all? Did you stop by the infirmary to get patched up?”

Jace shoots him a lopsided smile before pulling up the hem of his shirt and whipping the fabric over his head. Alec scans his pale skin, flitting over the runes moving over rippling muscle, but there’s nothing of note.

“Did you just want to show off that you’ve been working out more? Because I know. You make me work out _with_ you.”

“No!” Jace huffs, head tilting to the side as he gestures to his body. “You’re looking at the most recent magic workings of one Magnus Bane.”

“So...he healed you?” Alec asks. “Did you really have to take your shirt off for that?”

Jace lets out a rough sigh. “I thought you’d wanna see. Look! Nothing. No scars or anything. Your boy’s practically a hero _and_ he’s talented.”

“Again, not a boy. Also, not mine,” Alec reminds him. Jace raises a brow and Alec acquiesces before he can push anymore. “Just someone...important.” Saying it out loud feels like shedding a weight. Freeing and right.

Jace laughs. “I’ll say. You look like Raziel himself came down to bless you.”

“It kind of feels like he has,” Alec mutters. Jace grins at the admission before turning back to his would-be injuries. Alec flushes and bobs his head, but he can’t help his curiosity; so he stands and ventures closer. “Did it hurt?” He asks.

“Nah, not at all. He did press on one of my bruises but I think he just did it to be an ass,” Jace shrugs.

Something white hot and shameful spreads in Alec’s lungs. “Oh.” A frown settles on his face, refusing to budge as he tries to reign in the sudden wave of bitterness.

Jace stares at him before sputtering. “Holy shit are you jealous right now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Alec blushes and wanders back behind the desk in an effort to hide the blood rising beneath his skin. Jace refuses to let him escape.

The blond rests his hands on Alec’s desk, leaning his weight into the wood so hard the surface creaks. He grins. “By the angel you are totally jealous right now. Dude this is so rich, I’ve never actually seen you outright jealous before!”

“Why do you sound so excited about this?” Alec asks, eyes rolling as he gives up on his paperwork.

“Because we’re bonding!” Jace says, slapping a hand against Alec’s shoulder. “So like are you equipped for this date? I’ll go with you buy some condoms. Wait so like are you really a virgin because Izzy and I always suspected but I don’t think we’ve actually ever talked about this before and I am always here to give you some tips just in case.”

Alec drops his head against the still pending reports on his desk.

“Jace, please, I was just asking for some dating advice because you’ve been dating Clary. Which was clearly a mistake,” Alec mumbles into manila folders and drying ink.

His parabatai lays his free hand on Alec’s other shoulder.

“Don’t worry Alec, I’ll help you plan the best date ever.”

“I’m calling Izzy,” Alec moans, lamenting every choice he’s ever made that’s lead him to this moment.

“Great! She can help! Izzy knows _way_ more about blowjobs than I do,” Jace smiles as Alec gets up and hurries to the door. Alec ignores his brother’s cackling as Jace follows him down the hall.

*** 

Chairman Meow purrs on his chest. It’s a great comfort for Magnus on mornings like these when his muscles and magic strain with the weight of a hard-won fight. Beams of light filter in through gaps in his curtains. Beneath the familiar feel of the embroidery stitching of his duvet, Magnus stares up at the ceiling and fights down tears. He allows himself one shuddering breath. Nothing more.

Magnus knows Simon can hear him. Then, quick footsteps and a shudder of wards tells Magnus that Simon is heading halfway across the city to the Institute. Privacy. Sometimes Simon does have tact.

So he takes in the gift and lets all of his self pity burst and overflow. The weight of Chairman Meow keeps him grounded as he breathes through a rising tide of anxiety that threatens to turn him inside out. It burns low and quiet as it consumes all of his air and fills his head with smoke.

His date with Alec is tonight. A first date to get to know each other. Every part of Magnus screams to call off the date, but Jace’s clumsy shovel-talk echoes in his mind and reminds Magnus that this Alec is vulnerable in all the ways his Alexander is. In all of this, Alec is nothing but innocent.

Alexander Lightwood doesn’t know that his smiles make Magnus feel like breaking dishes and kissing him with abandon. Alexander Lightwood doesn’t know that Magnus owns his bow and quiver. Alexander Lightwood _doesn’t know him_ and Magnus wants to throw up.

So he will take the morning to purge the anxiety. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always alcohol.

The Chairman purrs louder before stepping off of his chest and leaping from the bed, paws silent against the hardwood floors. Through blurry vision and a mindless desperation for something focus on, Magnus follows the tabby cat with his eyes. With a playful swish of the tail, the Chairman seems to spot something of interest before he streaks out into the living room.

A few more minutes.

***

Alec blinks away sleep and finds himself hugging one of his spare pillows. His arms and legs wrap around it, tangling in the blankets and sheets. It’s still dark. His lashes cling together and catch against his duvet as he comes into consciousness.

A sudden wistfulness washes through him as he thinks about what it would be like to wake up next to Magnus Bane _._ Magnus Bane, who he has a date with tonight. He smiles, giddy and awake, before pulling the pillow closer to bury his face into its grey pillowcase.

“I’m acting like a fucking teenager,” he sighs, an empty admonishment when he says it aloud. He can’t bring himself to feel the embarrassment he expects. Then he remembers letting it go last night.

Jace had been...an experience wrought with confusion and more self-loathing than anything else. It’s a period of time he never wants to experience again.

But _this_.

Although daunting, this is exciting and fills him with an anticipation he’s never even dreamt about before. Everything is so new. The tingling in his fingertips and his want to spring out of bed and engage the day’s challenges is new. Smiling upon waking up is new. Hugging his pillow is new. _Letting_ himself want is new.

Alec never stopped wanting. No amount of internalized homophobia or external pressure took that away from him. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t try to cut the want out of him like an infection. He tried for so many years to hide this part of himself, smother it. But now he’s here.

It’s a sobering thought. He’s grateful, Alec realizes. He remembers standing across from Lydia and thinking about how she doesn’t deserve this condemnation. He remembers the resolution and conviction that fell away in the face of _something_ inside of him. Something beautiful and important and something he couldn’t yet bring himself to voice. But it demanded to be let out. It freed him, and it felt right.

And like everything else in his life of late, it makes him think of how he feels about Magnus. He’s nervous for tonight. Alec knows he’s not the strongest conversationalist, but despite all of that, he’s eager to see Magnus again.

Isabelle and Jace gave him plenty of advice the night before, eager and overzealous in their sharing of tips and other things Alec never wanted to learn about. And it was nice. It was fun, and Alec wondered, not for the first time, if his future was going to be full of firsts like these.

The memory of Magnus’ smile, tentative despite his grandeur, sends his heart into a furious frenzy. Alec rolls over, pillow still in his arms. He closes his eyes and imagines waking up this happy every day. 

***

Magnus stares up at the wooden sign with lead in his stomach.

“I uh, know the bartender, and it’s really Downworlder friendly,” Alec says. He looks pleased with himself for thinking of such a great place, and Magnus can’t find it in him to ask to get drinks somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Alec holds the door open for him, and Magnus walks into the Hunter’s Moon.

He moves to find seats at the bar when Alec catches his hand and laces their fingers together. Magnus glances down at them and tightens his grip despite knowing he should let go. Alec clears his throat.

“I uh, thought we might grab a table.” He gestures with a tilt of his head and a sheepish smile. “Maybe get some food while we’re here. Izzy said that dinner is not the same as drinks though, and I don’t want to pressure you or anythi--.”

“Dinner sounds good, Alexander,” Magnus says, even though he'd rather be anywhere but here, eating dinner.

A deep breath in and out. He takes one look at Alec’s face, reading all of Alec’s nerves and frantic energy.  Then, from beneath the panic, a rare and precious warmth rises to the surface, shy in its beauty. Despite himself and the reminders of what he’s lost, Magnus smiles.

_There you are, my love._

***

“Great!” Alec blurts. “Awesome, uh, do you want to find a table then?” Magnus looks at him and then back at the tables. Anxiety slams into Alec like a blow to the head and he lets go of Magnus’ hand to rub the back of his neck. “I mean, let’s look together. Not that you have to do all of the work. That table looks great.” Alec strides toward an empty, clean, table by the dartboard. In an attempt to salvage the conversation and mood, Alec pulls out a chair for Magnus.

Magnus, following close behind, pulls out the other chair and sits in it. Alec looks from the empty chair, to Magnus, and then back. He sits. The table is small and intimate, not allowing either of them much room.

Someone appears, startling him. “Can I get you guys anything to drink?”

Alec turns and stares “You’re not Maia,” Alec says. His relief of seeing a familiar face pops like the gum the Seelie waitress snaps in his face.

The Seelie’s eyes dart over his runes and then to Magnus. “Nope, Maia’s off. I’m covering.” She snaps the gum again. “Drinks?”

“I’ll have a Long Island iced tea,” Magnus says. The seelie nods and turns back to Alec.

“I’ll have the same,” Alec says, for lack of anything else. She nods again and drops a couple of menus on their table.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

She leaves and takes all conversation with her. The overhead music fills the minimal space between Alec and Magnus, drifting in and out. Alec combs through his mind for interesting topics of conversation. Demons weren’t date material, so he scraps that. Weaponry isn’t great either. At this rate, Magnus will leave before they’ve even gotten through cocktails.

Magnus breaks the silence and brings Alec back to the present. “The burger sounds delicious.”

Alec looks up, the movement giving him minor whiplash as he watches Magnus scan the menu. Then he feels Magnus’ knee press against his and he finds a great comfort in the weight, one he can’t explain, but doesn’t bother thinking about.

“The burger is great. Especially with bacon, they don’t even charge extra for it,” Alec says. He shifts to let the line of Magnus’ calf rest against his own and feels warmth build in his gut as Magnus relaxes into the touch.

Magnus glances at him and gives him a private smile that Alec finds both familiar and foreign. “The steak sandwich looks delicious as well. I think I’ll get that”

“Yeah, it’s good. Everything is good,” Alec smiles. Magnus taps his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the upbeat song rolling from the speakers.

Despite the awkward conversation and Alec’s obvious inexperience, Magnus still looks almost comfortable. Almost like he’s done this a million times. Maybe he has, Alec thinks. Magnus’ reputation is more than just smoke, but Alec can’t bring himself to care. There’s no curiousity or imperative need to ask him about his dating history. This feels _right_ to Alec.

Magnus’ countenance puts Alec at ease. The quiet confidence sweeps through Alec, giving him just enough courage to wipe the clamminess off of his hands and lay one, palm up, on the table. Magnus considers him and time stops. The same voice that spoke to him on that night insists that he wait. So he grits his teeth and he waits.

And he feels the press of thin chains and plains of metal as fingers lace with his. Magnus looks up at him and his eyes flicker. A glamour, simple and deliberate, falls away. Golden eyes glint, intelligent and afraid. Alec sucks in a breath.

“They’re beautiful,” Alec whispers, words coming out in a breathy rush. Magnus looks away. His manicured hand stiffens in Alec’s grasp, and the shadowhunter hurries to rectify the situation, holding on and drawing Magnus’ attention. “Magnus, wait. I mean it. They’re beautiful...You’re beautiful.”

Alec reaches out, cradling Magnus’ face. He watches as Magnus’ pupils expand and shrink. Then, Magnus closes his eyes, lashes fluttering. When he opens them, they’re brown again, but they twinkle under the strings of fairy lights.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

Bar noise settles over them again, the atmosphere no longer rife with anxiety. Magnus continues to scan the menu as Alec plays with his fingers. There’s a familiar privilege in the fidgeting. Hands are important to shadowhunters and warlocks alike. They fight with their hands, and fighting for survival matters more than just about anything else in the reality they live every day. Alec knows what Magnus’ hands mean to him.

Alec uses a bow and arrow, his seraph blade and his stele, to carve a path to a better world. His hands allow him to enact his ambition. Magnus is the same way, but for Magnus, they’re also a form of expression. After years of conditioning, Alec always stands in parade rest, often clasping his hands to keep from giving too much away.

Magnus speaks with his body. He uses it to project power, composure, and to emphasize his words. It’s a trait that Alec appreciates and admires, something he cannot yet bring himself to do amongst strangers. For Magnus to allow Alec access to his hands, touch them, trace their shape, and learn them, Magnus is trusting Alec in a way very few people trust anyone.

As their fingers weave together, it feels like he’s holding the warlock’s heart. It’s a delicate, flighty thing; a treasure that Alec wants to protect. Magnus looks up and catches him staring. Alec doesn’t look away, unable and unwilling to hide the overwhelming affection he feels for this half-stranger. Every sensible part of Alec disappears beneath the sound of blood rushing through his veins and the hope in his heart. Magnus flushes under the attention. The sight drawing a lopsided smile across Alec’s cheeks.

Magnus leans in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Alec’s mouth. Alec chases his lips, but Magnus pulls back and out of reach, conflict written in his eyes. Alec’s breath stutters as he realizes that Magnus looks ashamed. Caught doing something he shouldn’t.

His gaze darts to their joined hands. For a moment, Alec fears that Magnus is uncomfortable, but then Magnus seems to shake his head, gripping tighter, though Alec still reads uncertainty on Magnus’ features.

The waitress appears at Alec’s elbow with two tall glasses, matching lemon wedges hanging on the rims. She sets them down and takes a pad and pen from her apron pocket.

“You ready to order?”

Magnus glaces at Alec. Alec nods and turns to the waitress to order a burger with extra bacon. Magnus orders the steak sandwich with a side of chili cheese fries topped with bacon bits. The appetizer is Alec’s favorite, but doesn’t strike Alec as something Magnus would want. The waitress seems to agree. She makes a show of taking in Magnus’ appearance before repeating his order back to him. Magnus confirms his order with a polite nod. She shrugs, collecting their menus before walking to the adjacent table.

Condensation drips from the cups and onto the small paper coasters, the emblematic wolf absorbing the liquid as Alec tries to figure out what the lemon wedge is for.

“I didn’t think you’d go for something so strong.”

Alec frowns, choosing to do nothing with the lemon. He takes a careful sip of his Long Island. “It’s just tea isn’t it?”

Magnus snorts out a laugh and chokes around his own drink. The liquid sloshes over edges and onto his skin as he coughs, waving off Alec’s concern, but accepting a napkin from the bundle Alec offers. “It most certainly is not _just tea,_ Alexander. Which I’m sure you’ll find out in about ten minutes.” Magnus shoots him a playful wink.

Alec’s grateful that Magnus seems to be recovering from the sudden bout of self-doubt, so he says nothing, opting to take a swig of the ‘not just tea’ instead.

“So, uh, Jace says you’re a bit of a hero?” Alec says, grimacing at his awkward attempt to make conversation. That is not at all how Jace worded it, and Alec wears small talk like an ill-fitting suit. Magnus takes pity on him and resting on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t call myself a hero,” Magnus replies. “Luke called and I was having a bit of a...rough day. This may sound selfish, but I was grateful to have an outlet for my frustration.”

“Are you close with Luke?” Alec asks, regretting the question when Magnus goes rigid. Magnus takes in a deep breath, looking somewhere over Alec’s shoulder. He fakes a laugh. “I mean, Luke’s pretty well known around these parts and everything.”

Everytime Alec thinks the date is going well, he says something that seems to strike the wrong chord with Magnus. He knows Magnus is hiding something from him. Alec prides himself in being observant, and Magnus isn’t discreet, but he doesn’t know what to do.

Alec is out of his depth in many ways. He knows himself well enough to understand that he’s far from being a socialite, and now, his ineptitude with words fills him with frustration.  He’s never felt this connected to anyone before, his parabatai bond notwithstanding, and he wants Magnus to understand that. But he doesn’t even know where to begin.

He’s not good with words. So he leans in, giving Magnus ample time to avoid him, and presses a soft kiss to Magnus’ forehead. It feels natural. All about this feels like it’s meant to be, and Alec fights every uncertainty by clinging to his belief in the unwavering feeling in his chest. Magnus sighs, and Alec hides his relief with another gulp of the tea he now knows is chock full of alcohol.

It’s clear that Magnus sees right through him, leaning into his side as if to reassure him. “I’ve heard stories. I respect him greatly.” Then the warlock meets his gaze. “I’ve heard stories about your brother as well. Though some of the hearsay might be a bit exaggerated.”

Alec grins, full of relief as he think about Jace’s proclivity for heroics. “It’s definitely exaggerated,” he whispers.

Magnus beams back at him, looking content before his gaze dips away. “Speaking of heroes, you banished Lilith.” He sits back, raising a challenging eyebrow. “But can you beat me at a game of pool?”

“Oh, I _know_ I can beat you at a game of pool,” Alec replies, rising to Magnus’ obvious bait.

A wicked smirk flashes across Magnus’ features and sends heat into Alec’s stomach.

“It’s on, pretty boy,” Magnus says. They both move to get up when the waitress shows up, tray laden with plates. Their gazes catch and they sit back down, hands unlacing as they take the food.

“After this, I’m kicking your butt,” Alec says around a mouthful of ground beef and buttery brioche.

“You wish,” Magnus retorts, shoving the fries toward Alec. “Eat up, you’re gonna need your strength for when you lose.”

 

***

 

“You hustled me,” Alec says, mouth gaping as a slow smile spreads across his handsome face.

“It’s not hustling if I told you I’d win,” Magnus drawls.

“It’s hustling if you pretend to be terrible just to make me feel bad for you!” Alec laughs in disbelief.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Magnus hums. Alec shakes his head and moves in close, crowding Magnus against the pool table.

“Best two out of three? In the name of fairness, I mean.” Alec bites his lip, leaning into Magnus’ space and making Magnus feel safe.

Although he’d been dreading it, this date is perfect. Magnus knows that Alec’s aware of his reservations, but Alec, kind, beautiful Alec, only offers comfort.

There is no world where Magnus can stop himself from loving Alexander Lightwood. It’s a frightening truth, to know that despite his best efforts, Magnus will always fall. A great weakness he would die for. A great weakness his father knows to exploit.

Before, Alec was there to cover him, hold him close and protect him. Now, Magnus can only watch as Alec, young and so oblivious to the depth of his feelings, holds Magnus’ heart in the palm of his hand.

Magnus gave his heart to Alec once. He committed himself to an act of blind trust, clinging to the unerring connection that strung them together. This Alec, his but not his, is even more dangerous than the closeted man he had been.

This Alec is empty of memories that Magnus cherishes. This was not His Alexander who lay with him for countless mornings exchanging kisses and sleepy _I love you_ ’s, his greatest weakness and greatest strength made manifest.

Magnus loves This Alec, but This Alec did not kiss him at the year’s most controversial wedding, confess desperate love on the lawn of the Institute’s decrepit church, nor beg him to return from Edom. This Alec doesn’t know all of Magnus’ sins and the guilt he bears with each passing breath. And yet, This Alec looks at him with that same tenderness that rends Magnus in two. Leaving him to drown in a guileless adoration he doesn’t deserve.

This Alec is every bit His Alexander. And as This Alec kisses him, Magnus allows himself to pretend that they’re one and the same.

“Best two out of three,” he grins.

 

***

 

Alec insists on walking him home. It’s one of the countless things he’s done throughout the night that takes away Magnus’ heartache and reinvites it all at once. They walk hand in hand, and the intimacy mocks him. It’s his own fault for craving Alec’s touch.

A sudden wave of nausea hits him as they stumble up the stairs together.

They’re approaching his loft. His home. _Their_ home. Those are _their_ front doors and _their_ funny broken lock.

This is wrong and Magnus cannot hide from it in Alec’s arms.

Alec leans in and kisses him. It tastes like cocktails and all of the secrets Magnus keeps hidden beneath his tongue. The Shadowhunter pulls away and smiles. Then his expression shifts, contentedness dissolving into concern.

He brings a hand up to Magnus’ cheek and strokes beneath his eye. “Magnus, what’s wrong?”

Magnus stares up at Alec. His vision is glossy and watery and he _can’t do this to Alec_.

So he finds the words and drags them from his hollow chest.

“I’m sorry, Alexander. I...I can’t do this.”

“What?” Alec moves closer and Magnus panics.

He stumbles backward, feeling for the handle to his front door. It swings open and he falls inside. The door shuts beneath the weight of his back as he catches his breath and sobs into all of the empty spaces that Alec used to occupy.

Alec, who he left on on the landing while he sits there, sober and rueful and crying.

“Magnus.” Alec’s voice drifts through the heavy wood that stands between them. “I know that there’s something you’re not telling me.” He says, open, honest and undemanding. “I like you, Magnus. I know that I may not be what you were expecting, but something about you calls to me. And if I’m wrong, if I’m making you uncomfortable, then please _say something_. If you tell me to leave, I’ll go.” A pause, and then, with conviction. “But if you open this door, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here when you need me.”

Guilt surges in Magnus’ gut.

This isn’t fair. This whole situation makes Magnus want to tear out his hair and scream until his voice goes hoarse. But all he does is cry. He’s shut Alec out before. He knows how it goes and the pain it causes. Alec doesn’t deserve it. This Alec, who has done nothing but care for him, doesn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry, Alexander,” Magnus sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s silence, and then Alec speaks again. “Magnus...please, open the door.”

And Magnus hates himself as he hears Alec settle down on the other side. He hears Alec’s phone ring. Once. Twice. Again and again until Alec picks up and mutters excuses to whoever is on the line. Alec continues to wait, and Magnus hates himself more with every passing second.

Alec only leaves when the sun has risen.


	4. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because that's what Truebloods do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really torn on how I wanted this to go, and I ended up trying something new.  
> Thank you so much for reading this far.  
> I hope this is worth it. <3

Alec stands. The floor feels uneven under his feet. He sees the pinks and reds of dawn peeking through the hallway window. It moves along the wall, approaching him as it drenches old wood and white paint.

He glances at his phone. A text from his mother waits for him to read it, but he doesn’t bother. He drops the device back into his pocket. His back aches from sitting for so long in such an uncomfortable position, but he doesn’t feel the urge to stretch, folding in on himself instead.

Magnus never opened the door.

There’s a buzz in his pocket. An alarm he found weeks ago with the mysterious title “Don’t Forget Your Goodbye Kiss.” He never got around to deleting it, cherishing it for some inexplicable reason that makes him feel foolish now.

He didn’t sleep. He waited all night. Now he has to go home.

It takes a moment for his body to lumber, jerky and uncoordinated, down the flights of stairs he and Magnus climbed just hours ago.

It’s dim outside.

Alec walks, no glamour hiding him from the scant pedestrians that eye him with caution. Morning chill prickles his skin through his jacket.

He walks.

His heels scuff against the gritty cement.

He keeps walking.

Alec stumbles into the Institute, blood rushing in his ears and legs leaden under the weight of a broken heart. Silence rings through the halls. Only one person notices his arrival, and he should’ve known she’d be here. His phone rests in his pocket, the minutes from their brief call last night sitting in its history.

Maryse strides toward him from the mouth of the Ops Center. He lets her check over him, obliging her when she smooths out his eyebrows.

“Alec? By the Angel, you look dead on your feet. What happened?”

“Mom,” he breathes. “I told you I was okay.”

“I didn’t believe you then and I don’t believe you now,” she retorts, pressing a hand to his cheek. A critical eye passes over his face. “Oh, Alec. I know that look.”

Alec tries to pull away. “It’s nothing,” he mutters. He knows she’s not convinced. No one would be, because his voice is fucking _cracking_ and he can’t fucking _breathe_ and he needs to be far away from here, from people, and the weight of Magnus’ closed doors.

Maryse reaches for him. Each movement is careful and slow, deliberate as she enters his space.

“Alec?”

People start trickling into the communal spaces. Alec feels crowded, already shying away from the prospect of interacting with anyone, much less shadowhunters looking to him for instructions. Alec backs up, and Maryse follows him, offering her hand.

He clutches it, desperate for _what_ he doesn’t know. “Mom,” he gasps. Why is it so hard to _breathe_? She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb.

Alec doesn’t remember the last time he let himself be vulnerable in front of her. He finds that he doesn’t care when it happened last, because he’s falling apart _now_ and he can’t keep track of the pieces as they crash to the ground.

“Come with me, Alec. It’ll be okay,” She says, comforting him in the tiny space they occupy together. Nothing around them, nobody else, just him and his mom. Alec allows her to move him. He trails behind her, exhaustion draining him of any resistance. “It’ll be okay,” she says again. The words blow past him as the doors open and cool air rushes inside.

She leads him out in the murky sunlight. He walks next to her, finding surer footing as they step away from the building and out onto the empty sidewalk. It’s cloudy. Wind nips at his cheeks, playing with his lashes before dashing up and away into the trees.

He doesn’t know where they’re going, or why the pavement beneath his feet looks so out of focus.

They stop. Alec blinks, trying to center himself as he realizes that the pavement is now a carpet of grass and leaves. Tiny wildflowers poke up around the soles of his shoes. He shifts his weight to keep from crushing the cheerful yellow blossoms. His mother leads him with a gentle tug of his hand, pulling him toward a wooden bench with wrought iron arms and legs.

“Where are we?” Alec asks.

“A park by my new apartment,” Maryse answers. “I like to come here in the morning when it’s empty. Sometimes I come at night when I can’t sleep.”

Alec wants to ask her why she’s having trouble sleeping at night, but he knows the answer, so he nods and sits. She joins him on the bench. Alec feels something soft and warm settle across his shoulders. He doesn’t jump, but it’s near thing, and he doesn’t understand why he’s so anxious and languid at the same time. It’s frustrating.

Shadowhunters train from birth. There is no part of himself that Alec’s not familiar with, no matter how intimate or how much he may hate it. To feel so out of place in his own body is frightening. It’s wrong. Everything about this is wrong and he doesn’t understand what is happening. He doesn’t understand why, from beneath the strange numbness, he _hurts so much_.

“You’re shaking,” Maryse murmurs. Alec looks up at her, seeing her and the trees behind her and he realizes that she’s right. A scarf. She gave him a scarf to keep him warm.

Alec doesn’t remember her wearing a scarf, but he’s grateful for it just the same. He takes a deep breath. The thick green fabric smells like her perfume. Alec holds onto the subtle scent of cedarwood and marigolds.  

“Thank you,” Alec manages.

She nods, letting him sit and try to catch his breath. A bee drifts by. It moseys over to a bush of white flowers, petals fluttering in clumps as breezes and small animals rush through their stems.

“Alec...did something happen with Magnus?”

He blinks back tears. The wetness startles him in its warmth against his skin, against the raw, pale, bruises of a sleepless night. He can’t find the right words to explain. Thinking about it in rational terms almost makes him want to laugh. What can he tell her?

Alec doesn’t know, but then his mouth is open and words fall out in a rush of simple sentences with the sharp tang of bile.

He saved my life weeks ago.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him, or his eyes, or his lips, or his hands, or the thumping of my heart, or the dreams that I had of us together on a balcony with glasses of sweet wine and plates of fruit.

I asked him on a date.

He looked so beautiful and _sad_ and I wanted to make him happy.

The date was perfect.

I kissed him.

He closed his doors.

I waited.

I waited.

I waited.

His doors never opened.

I hurt. I hurt so much, and I don’t know what to _do_.

“Oh, Alec. Sweetheart.”

His lips tremble. Shame rushes through him, a welcome shock of familiar guilt because he let emotions compromise him, ruin him, take away his faculties and make him speak every single thought out loud as if he can’t control his own voice.

“Alec. Honey, look at me.”

So he does. He’s used to following commands, the Clave’s, his mother’s, and the one time he listens to his heart _this happens_. He frowns.

She starts slow and quiet. “Alec, can you tell me what he said to you?”

“I can’t do this,” Alec murmurs. “I kissed him and then he said he _couldn’t do it_. What does that even mean?” Maryse lets out a mournful sound and wraps her arms around him. Tears soak into her woolen black peacoat; wiry fibers rub against his cheek.

Cedarwood and marigolds.

Sandalwood and fire.

“It means more than you know,” Maryse says. She rocks him back and forth, the movement more comforting than patronizing despite his age. Alec doesn’t know what to do with that information. So he just lets her hold him, burying into her warmth and the security he finds there. He feels her chest rise and mimics the movement. Then, she speaks again. “Did he say anything else?”

“Sorry.” Alec remembers, speaking the word aloud with hesitance and a little resentment. “He said he was _sorry._ ” He feels the tingling in his fingers and toes dissipate, regaining control of his body bit by bit as his mother coaxes the truth from his veins and releases it into the open air.

“Tell me about him.”

Alec pulls away. He’s sticky with salt and sniffling snot back up his nose. Maryse reaches into one of her pockets to offer him a travel package of tissues. He laughs, the thought of his mother entrenching herself in things like wiping his nose catches him off guard. She’s waiting, and Alec loves her, and _Magnus_.

“He gave me wine, and the kind that I like, not the kind that’s too bitter,” Alec says.

Maryse nods. The bob of her head runs the ends of her soft hair against his neck. “What else?” She asks.

And then, all at once, the pain in Alec’s chest becomes something else.

“He looked at me like he _knew_ me. He held my hand even though I think my skin was clammy,” he snorts and mucus dribbles down his face. Maryse wipes it away with her spare Mundane kleenex and her own little snort of laughter. Then she gestures for him to continue.

“And?”

“And I felt a connection with him. I saw him and it felt like I knew him. He looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered and I understood because _he meant that much to me_ ,” Alec says. “He moves and he speaks as if he can read me completely.” His fingers tangle with hers, and he imagines rings and chipping varnish. “And he’s so, _so_ sad.” It almost feels like a betrayal to Magnus’ reputation, but Alec feels like this is important. “He exudes confidence and power, but he also seems vulnerable. Small, somehow. As if he’s been stripped bare.” The thought slips out, like a tiny creature just waiting to escape. “I...noticed when I saw him again the first time. He looked tired, like a rubber band stretched to its limits and held there.”

“And?”

Rage surges through Alec’s blood.

“And he shut me out. He made me smile and laugh and made me _love him_ and then he _shut me out_ ,” Alec spits.

“You love him?”

Alec freezes, because that’s absurd and impossible and _he loves Magnus Bane_.

“Yeah. I do,” he confesses. The anger melts away, leaving only hollow spaces of absurd and impossible heartbreak. “I’ve only know him for a month, not even. I’ve known him for a day and I love him.”

He looks up at her, expecting disapproval and confusion, but all he finds is something new. Understanding. Quiet, unassuming, and almost wistful understanding.

“You love him,” Maryse whispers. “But he hid from you. You kissed him, and you love him, and he ran.”

“Why did he run?” Alec asks, his fracturing heart held together by his mother’s scarf and the fact that she understands somehow.

“Maybe he’s scared,” Maryse says. She hesitates, and Alec realizes that he’s seen the same expression she wears on Magnus’ face. Like they’re stepping around something invisible to anyone but them. “Alec, if there’s anything that I want you to know, it’s that love, no matter how painful, is worth it. I loved your father, and it was worth it because it gave me _you_. It gave me Isabelle, Max, and Jace.” She closes her eyes and Alec watches the sun kiss her lashes. “And love can tear you apart. It makes you vulnerable and it strips you bare.”

Alec can breathe again.

“So what do I do?”

Maryse opens her eyes, turning to him before leaning in close, as if sharing an ancient secret.

“You never let it go. You fight for it.”

“And what if he doesn’t let me in?” Alec asks, the thought sending him crashing back down to earth.

She presses a soft kiss to his cheek and strokes his hair

“Trust me, Alec. He will.”

He searches her face. “How do you know?”  

“Because we’re Truebloods. And what do we do?” Maryse asks through tears and a proud smile.

Alec thinks about Magnus’ smile and patchwork armor. He thinks about the hope that’s not just his to erase. He thinks of closed doors, easing them open, and doing what he should’ve done last night. No more waiting.

He looks up at her.

“We fight for what we love.”

She smiles, fierce and proud.

“That’s my boy.”

 

***

 

Maryse leaves Alec at the park. He takes the time to sit, and take in the beauty of everything around him.

A bird flutters by, dipping in and out of branches before settling on the ground near his feet. Two young children and their parents walk toward a small playground to his right. Cars drive by. The temperature rises. Alec removes his mother’s scarf and runs his fingers along its silky hems.

He’ll give Magnus some time. A shower and some food will do him good, he decides. Alec stands. He begins to walk, stepping around strangers, and taking in the sounds of the city.

Each stride reminds of him of his goal.

The world continues around him, and he will fight for Magnus Bane.

 

***

 

He’s alone again. Simon is on his way to see Maia, whose arrival back in New York sent the vampire through the roof and into the skies.

At least one of them is happy.

Magnus takes a swig of his drink, burying himself in Alec’s chair and sucking bitterness from his teeth as the alcohol fails to dull the screaming in his mind. After Alec left, Magnus couldn’t bring himself to sleep, eat, or do much more than just wallow in his misery. He takes another shaky sip from the _fucking_ teacups brimming with Ragnor’s favorite scotch.

Punishment for his failure to honor Ragnor’s memory.

Then, a pulse of magic echoes warmth, familiarity, and comfort throughout the loft, wrenching damp sobs from Magnus’ throat. He can’t do this, not now. The regret of last night and the weeks beforehand fill his chest with freezing rapids as he tries, in vain, to breath without choking on spit.

The wards don’t lie.

There’s a knock on the door and an urgent call from the other side. “Magnus, it’s me, Alexander. Please...let me in.”

And Magnus can’t refuse him, not again.

He stands on shaky legs, stumbling with inebriation and pain. He turns the knob. Alec surges inside and pulls him into an enveloping hug that smells like marigolds and _Alec._ Magnus starts crying anew as he clutches Alec closer, _closer_ , trying to bring them back to what they were by sheer force.

Alec breathes against Magnus’ neck as if trying to brand his presence into the magic that churns deep in Magnus’ blood. He presses in deeper and holds Magnus tighter in his arms, lips tickling Magnus’ skin as he speaks. All of the alcohol burns away as Magnus releases all restraints on his emotions and his magic.

And Alec holds on, bearing the fear of warlock fire to let Magnus fall apart in his arms.

“You can try to push me away...but please...whoever it is you’re waiting for. Whatever is making you suffer like this. Please let me try to make it better.” The words tumble from Alec’s mouth and trail down Magnus’ back, drawing shivers in their wake. “I may not be experienced, and I may not know everything about you, but I know that you feel what I feel,” Alec murmurs. “Let me try.”

Magnus draws in a shuddering breath, crumbling beneath the weight of Alec’s inescapable love.

“It’s you,” Magnus sobs. “It’s been you this whole time.” His heart hammers in his chest at Alec’s closeness and the burning desperation to tell Alec everything.

“What do you mean?” Alec asks, drawing back before leaning in to kiss Magnus’ tears away. He presses their foreheads together. “Magnus, whatever you’re hiding from me, I can take it. Tell me. Help me understand.”

Golden eyes disappear behind bare eyelids and dark lashes as Magnus summons his courage.

“We are, _were_ , in love,” Magnus whispers, lips wet with tears and mouth coated with mucus. “You kissed me at your wedding. You and I fought Valentine together, and on the night you defeated Lilith, I left for Edom to ask my father for help.” Magnus lets out a weak sob. “He took you from me.” A despairing noise rips from Magnus’ throat as the truth fights for freedom.

“Your father took me from you? What do you mean?” Alec’s hand comes up and cups Magnus’ face. “Magnus, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”

“You won't believe me,” Magnus laughs, voice hysterical.

Alec frowns. “You have to trust me. Don’t push me away,” he says.

Magnus looks up at him with wondering, glossy eyes. Then, as if tumbling headfirst into a lake, a leap of faith.

“He erased your memories of me.”

“Okay,” Alec nods, as if trying to reassure Magnus that he’s listening.

“No, Alec. You don’t understand,” Magnus says, trying to curl impossibly closer. “Everyone who ever loved me. Every experience we’ve ever shared--it’s all gone.”

Alec takes a moment to consider Magnus’ words. Then, something seems to click for him, and he lets out a soft noise of understanding. “You know...that actually makes a lot of sense. Everything during the date, you pushing me away. It was because of me,” he whispers. Then his gaze sharpens with resolve. “But it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Magnus insists, wrenching away in anger. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand what it’s like to look at you and see _him_ and know that we will never _be the same_ .” His chest heaves as fire consumes him from the inside and spews from every crack he’s held together until now. “I’ve always been afraid of losing you and you said you’d never leave but you _lied_.”

You gave him up, Magnus’ mind says, full of spite and sick satisfaction.

“I’m right here, Magnus,” Alec says. He tries to reach out again but Magnus flinches away.

“No you’re not,” Magnus whispers.

“Look at me!” Alec begs. “Look at _me_.”

And Magnus does. Through foggy vision and heartache, Magnus looks. All he sees is the man he loves, and it feels like a betrayal to His Alexander if he admits that they’re one and the same.

“Stop,” Magnus whispers.  

“Stop what?” Alec asks. “Stop myself from pursuing the closest thing I have to love? To a future? Stop pursuing this connection we’ve had since the beginning? _Stop pursuing you because_ _you love me?_ ” He hisses, voice ragged as he holds out his arms like wings, righteous and protective. “Magnus, even if I never get my memories back, I don’t care. I don’t care because what matters to me is that _you’re here._ We may have lost our past but nothing can take away our future and I will _never_ stop unless you tell me that you don’t love me.” Alec’s chest heaves. “Magnus, please. Tell me right now and I’ll leave. But please, don’t lie to me.”

Magnus falls into Alec's warmth, weak and pitiful and so unfair to this beautiful man who holds him anyway.

“Simon and I...we’ve been looking for a solution for _weeks_ because I can’t let you go. But nothing works.” Magnus hates to admit his failure. He couldn’t protect Alec from his father. He can’t return the memories that define them both. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. “I can’t.”

“Then keep trying,” Alec murmurs. “I don’t _want_ to live my life knowing that there are huge, gaping holes where we should be. But I don’t care what happens as long as you’re with me.” A hand falls to Magnus’ waist and another slides around his back. “There’s been this _feeling_ that’s been there since I first met you. Ever since you saved me, I’ve known that you were important, that you were meant to be part of my life.” Alec kisses Magnus eyelids, fingers creasing Magnus’ clothes and clinging to the muscle beneath. “Let me in, Magnus.”

And hasn’t that always been his Alexander? Magnus opens his eyes and stares deep into the hazel that glistens under the low lights.

“It won’t be easy,” Magnus warns, voice breathless, the fight leaving him as Alec’s kindness seeps into his bones. Alec seems to realize he’s breaking through. He tugs Magnus in closer and peppers his face with chaste pecks.

“Living without knowing you would be harder,” Alec implores. “I’ve known you for less than a month and I already know that,” he jokes. “Keep trying, Magnus. Ever since I saw you on that night I knew you could be _it_ for me. I want to love you and nothing can take that away, not even your father.”  

“Please stay with me,” Magnus whispers. Alec smiles and kisses him with the weight of a thousand lost memories. They pull apart, breath mingling.

“Always.”

 

***

 

Simon finds something in the book, stumbling through the complex Greek with a dictionary in hand and Alec glaring at him from across the table. A barrier against memories intended to protect those who went through terrible grief. Memories erased to ease their burden. It’s promising.

The werewolf children are safe and healthy, turned over to Luke after Catarina consulted Magnus on the matter. She noticed the books she bought for him, and even as strangers, she can spot his lies from a mile away. Catarina offers to help.

Isabelle and Jace come over because Alec does, filling the loft with noise, banter, and charming smiles. Clary devises a rune to help keep spirits light, safe for Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike as the loft grows cramped with company. Maryse watches over them all, eager to share muffies and other mundane foods to nourish them after long days.

“I told you,” Maryse says, quiet and knowing as they watch Alec from the kitchen. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him love anyone like he loves you.”

“It’ll be a cold day in Edom before I admit that you’re right about anything,” Magnus jokes.

Maryse laughs, long and loud, so similar to her children.

And Magnus has hope.

 

***

 

“Alexander?”

Alec opens his eyes, rubbing away sleepiness and an ache in his bones.

“Magnus?”

“I’m here, darling.”

Alec raises his head and sees stars, just making out Magnus’ blurry form. “Raziel, it feels like I’ve been asleep for weeks.”

“A day,” Magnus says, voice cheeky in the way he speaks when he’s nervous about something. “The spell was quite powerful.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Alec says with a wince. Then, he grins, slow and giddy. “Well done.”

Magnus bites his lip and grins back, eyes watery. “More like medium rare.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the fic. <3  
> If you liked it, even a little, please leave me some kudos!  
> If you REALLY liked it, I'd really appreciate a comment, but any and all feedback is more than enough for me!  
> If you want to hear me complain, or see some of my occasional doodling, catch me on twitter @CryptidBane and on tumblr @AlexanderGideonTrueblood.
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
